Devil May Cry: Damned Souls
by Cpl.Hicks
Summary: Dante must find the Book of the Dead in 3 days to free the souls of mom & bro who are stuck in hell by Satan. But a LOT of things can happen in 3 days. Like turning into a woman! Duking it out with Satan's son! And, er, losing your clothes. Please R&R!
1. Sin City

Rated: R for violence, language, and some adult situations. Nothing "American Pie", so get your mind out of the  
gutter please! Nor is this "Pulp Fiction" with Dante being the equilvent of John Travolta's character and Trish being  
the female version of Samuel L. Jackson. LOL!  
  
Disclaimer: Well, Dante doesn't belong to me. Though I certainly wish it. Anyway, the wizards at Capcom own  
him. Wizards? Uh, well, they never DID explain why they gave Sparda's character the same dialogue of Dante's, did   
they? Or what was REALLY going on between Trish and Dante (Eeewwww). Or that stupid clockstopper device that only   
pauses time for a second during the Phantom battle in "Dante Must Die" Mode. Or why you can sometimes see during   
the demo Dante wearing a jacket than trenchcoat and if you look REAL carefully you can notice Dante's shadow doesn't   
show the shape of his trenchcoat at all in the final version of DMC. (Check out his shadow during the Nelo Angelo intro   
scene for a somewhat better view of it) And did y'all notice that they deleted out a scene from the demo? Yeah, they show   
Dante waving his sword before holstering it at his jacket at the scene where you first battle Phantom... Hmmm...   
ANYWAY! (Sheesh, I've been playing that darn game for TOO long!) BTW, anyone catch the "Dino Crisis 2" sign shown at the  
very beginning of the game? It's when Trish looks around. Check out the dark wall. The other wall of the street shows  
another sign too. Though, it's hard to tell what it says.  
  
Comments: I tried to put in all the stuff I've gathered from the game, including info I got from its strategy   
guides so that it won't sound fake. This is my first "Devil May Cry" story so bear with me! ;-) Still, I've been busy   
doing Alien fics so violence and language should seem familiar terroritory for me. (gulp) I hope! BTW, this story takes   
place a little after the Mallet Island affair. Enjoy! Please read it! I'm begging you!  
  
Chapter 1: Sin City  
  
It hurt each time he did it, he reflects to himself bitterly. His skin would feel so hot that he'd swear it   
was boiling, felt the blisters emerging above sour shivering skin as rain of electricity surged through him with one   
blow after the next. And even then, the hotness wouldn't stop. It'd invade the entire length of his body, coursing   
over and over again. Hands. Head. Feet. Legs. Arms. Everywhere. And his muscles would suddenly contract, convulsing   
involuntarily as it was being tortured by unmistakable, truly terrifying heat. There was also a loud, annoyingly   
piercing sound that would occur on both sides of his ears, like a train ramming at full speed ahead by Gold almighty   
himself. If the heat didn't get him then the noise certainly did. Sweet mother, it hurt like hell and he hated doing   
it each time. Sure the healing would kick in some and the noise would momentarily reside because of it, but damn that   
pain. The less he Devil triggered, the better. That's the way he sees it anyway.  
  
Devil Trigger... a lonesome whitehead man sitting at a table thinks to himself humorously. He never knew why   
he called it that when he transformed into a demonic creature with incredible strength, lighting speed, and a lust   
for fighting. Devil Trigger... Devil Torture seems like a better suitable word for it. Maybe he was suffering from a   
hangover one night and thought 'hey, Devil Trigger sounds nice' out of the blue. Yeah, right. Like he would even   
remember that the next day. Hangovers... you've gotta love 'em. And anyway, does the name of it really matter? Who   
cares what they call it, right? It hurts as hell.  
  
He never knew he possessed this... power until he visited a certain island that literally put his world   
upside down. Sure, he knew he was different when he was just a pup. Him and his long-deceased brother both were. It's   
not everyday little boys and girls are born with silver hair and have the ability to jump across a damn canoe, you   
know. Jesus. And those times when he'd find his body automatically heal itself when an injury would occur. It kind of   
scared him. Made him worried. He just knew that he was... different somehow. And the dreams, no, the nightmares,   
would come to him each time he shut his eyes. As he grew older, they weren't as scary as they used to be because he   
got used to them. But when he was a kid, they made the boogeyman look like a side note. He was fucking Santa Claus   
compared to the creatures that stalked him in his nightmares.  
  
Later, when he was in his preteens and learned the truth after a talk with his mother about his father's   
death, it only made things worse. He never knew his father. About the only things he had of him were two twin gun   
pistols and a sword called Force Edge. But simple mementoes weren't enough to know the face behind the name Sparda.   
According to his mother, he was as handsome as they came and was as gentle as he was tough. Ha, his mother would   
constantly remind him that she saw his father in his distinctively light-blue eyes. When the questions arose over   
his 'untimely' death, he was given an answer that was the last thing he expected from his mother. It was then that   
his mother explained that due to his father's TRUE origins, he, as a demon, couldn't live long in the realm of   
light. Darkness would soon come for him as his father continuously told her regrettably.   
  
He and his brother didn't know WHAT to think of this. After all, if what their mother said was true then he   
was a part of the evil the world despised. Feared. Hated. For crying out loud, he had just come from a Catholic school   
learning that all devils were the bad guys and all angels were the good guys! Sweet mother of mercy...  
  
Naturally, the truth made him feel ashamed of himself. Every normal kid was going through problems like acne,   
raging hormones, and peer pressure. Him? He was worrying over the day he'd turn into a monster like they always show   
in the movies and wreck havoc on everyone. Hell, his brother took it in better than he did. In fact, his brother   
continuously tried his best to comfort him, to remind him that he was human too... that he wasn't bad. Even though   
deep down he was glad he had his brother there, he took him for granted, as he'd later discover.   
  
He turned into a complete rebel during his teen years, figuring that if 'normal' folks learned the truth, then   
they'd STILL think he was evil no matter how good he tried to be. They'd burn him at the stake. So he said screw 'em.   
So what? He is who he is. But the abduction and murder of his beloved mother and brother shut those thoughts off and   
brought him back to reality. And no matter what he was, his brother was right. He was still human. He could still feel.   
Hurt. Love. And in that unfortunate day, a day where he remembers that he left his brother and mother with hurtful   
words before storming out and then coming back only to see a group of demons capture them, he felt an undeniable heat   
of anger and vengeance.   
  
His father's guns were mysteriously taken about the same time of his mother and brother's abduction. But he   
remembered how they looked like and knew that they'd be his keys in undoing all the demons and devils that took the   
life of his brother and mother. He modeled his own guns after his father, as a tribute and mark of legacy.   
  
Even now that frustration is still fresh, still hot. He can even remember now how he lay on the floor   
helplessly, in shock, as his mother fought to protect him and his brother. Eventually, failing. When it was all   
over, when the demons had decided that he wasn't worth the trouble in killing, when they had stolen everything he loved   
and cherished away from him, when life had stopped, he shred a tear and vowed revenge. He vowed that when it was all   
over, that the devil may surely cry too.  
  
Drowning the last drop of whiskey from his shot glass, the mysterious white-haired man motions for a   
voluptuous brunette-headed lady carrying a tray of alcoholic beverages to come over to his table. He knows of a   
certain woman who would come down on him if she caught him drinking. After all, he's here on official business.   
But don't all work and no play make a Devil hunter a depressed hunter? Right? And besides, Las Vegas ain't exactly   
the perfect place to just sit around and do nothing.  
  
Las Vegas... Yeah. Also known as Sin City. Also known as the perfect place for devils to hide out at. He knew   
a lot of demons, concealed by fake human bodies so that the world wouldn't know what they really were, came here often.   
Running. Killing to feed. The typical stuff demons do when they're bored, ha. Las Vegas and a few others are as   
attractive to demons as shit is to flies. It might be the greed. Temptation. Vices. Whatever it was, its 'scent'   
called on any demon looking to hide out for a while and go on a killing spree. After all, these days, cops don't know   
the difference between homicidal incidents from demon kills. It's easy for the bloody bastards to get away with it,   
which is why there needs to be a 'handyman' to keep them in check. That's pretty much why he located his business near.   
  
Devil May Cry. Actually, it is called Devil Never Cry nowadays and it's just a few miles away from Las Vegas.   
DNC is deep in the Nevada desert, somewhere in the middle of nowhere but near everywhere. Where DNC is located, it is   
pretty much the best place to be at. While Nevada tourists wanting to strike it rich continuously overlook its location,   
the city harboring his pride and joy is colorful enough. Granted, his city may not attract many people or is as   
extravagant as Las Vegas, New York, and all those other big shot cities, but he likes seclusion. He works better when   
there aren't a lot of people raining on his parade. Cops especially. There's nothing worse than explaining to a cop   
that you axed the guy at the corner of the street because he was actually a demon. No sir. In fact, if he can recall,   
he had to move his business from Waco, Texas, because of a similar case like that a few years back.  
  
The man brushes back a strand of wild white hair from his left eye. In doing so, he catches a glimpse of a   
large television screen not far away from him.  
  
"In about three days from today, we will be seeing a truly unique eclipse at around noontime," a male newscaster   
reports. "It's going to be one for the history books since it comes on the day of Leap year."  
  
"Scary," a female news anchor comments and laughs, smiling towards the camera.  
  
"Tell me about it! This is definitely one to record since this has never happened before. You already know that   
the psychics will be calling, predicting horrible revelations."  
  
The two laugh at the joke as well as the ones inside the studio.  
  
"Hey handsome," a waitress says as she approaches the white-haired man's table, breaking away his concentration   
regarding the eclipse news. She glares at him with bright-lit eyes, obviously liking what she sees. "What's a good-  
looking guy like you doing here all by yourself?"  
  
"What's a pretty girl like you working in this dump?" he answers suavely.  
  
The waitress instantly blushes and places a shot glass on the man's table after retrieving his empty glass. She   
brushes back her straight hair from her face, nervously smiling.  
  
"So, uh, that's a great hair style you got," she replies, trying to sound casually and noticing the white silver   
hair, "Did you dye it white or something?"  
  
"No. I'm all natural." He grins, fiddling his gloved fingers around his shot glass.  
  
She smiles too, standing up and allowing the white-headed man to get a good view of her body, especially toward   
her nearly exposed chest.  
  
"Funny, I'm all natural too, in case you haven't noticed," the waitress injects sensually.  
  
Before the man can reply to that, his cell phone rings. He sighs as he digs deep into his extremely long, red   
trench coat's pocket. He obtains the cell phone where the cover of it displays a nude devil woman on it. The man answers   
it, leaving the waitress 'on hold' for now.  
  
"Yo, Romeo," a woman's voice comes through sarcastically, "You done romancing?"  
  
"Trish," the man realizes, laughing in a throaty purr, and soon glancing around the crowded casino.  
  
Surrounding him are about a hundred people who are all presently gambling. Some are playing the carefully lined   
up machines towards the back of the room, yanking down the sticks and praying for rain. Most are playing card games,   
betting on an obscene amount of cash to gain even more of it. Others are simply busy rolling dice, calling out numbers   
only to curse out in anger soon afterwards. The room the white-headed man is in is well lighted. Crowded but big enough   
to not get claustrophobic. The man soon stops looking and gives a wink at the still standing waitress before addressing   
the voice on the other line.  
  
"Don't tell me you're spying on me, babe. It ain't attractive," he says shortly, leaning back against his chair.  
  
"We're here on business, Dante," Trish reminds sternly, "And from what I'm seeing, you're too busy with that   
waitress to check on our client."  
  
"Relax," Dante replies confidently, checking on a bald-headed man sitting at a table a few meters away from   
his own. "He's cool. Baldy, there, ain't in danger. I can see him from where I am and he knows I'm carrying enough   
arsenal to make even the Marines envious."   
  
Dante uncovers a part of his trench coat, soon revealing a shiny white gun with the words 'Ebony & Ivory'   
engraved on it. Afterwards, he looks up to check on the bald man again. As if on cue, the bald-headed man momentarily   
stares at Dante from across. Dante playfully acknowledges him by waving his hand at him. The bald man smiles nervously,   
not knowing how to react. Instead, he returns to his glass of alcohol. He's downright scared, Dante notes.  
  
" 'Sides," Dante soon adds jokingly, "I wouldn't put a man who gives me payment in advance in any sort of   
danger. That's a part of my company policy, y' know."  
  
"Really? Then how come I've got a bad feeling about this?" the voice on the other line answers softly and very   
worried.  
  
"Doll, I've got this covered. You're forgetting that I've done this gig more than my old man kicked demon ass   
in his days. I'm a pro at what I do so chill out. If anything is going down, it'll be the demon I'm running through."  
  
"All right, but I'm still checking on you."  
  
"Yeah? From where?"  
  
"I'm close."   
  
Again, Dante checks the casino, trying to find the location of his caller. Clever girl, he ponders as he has   
yet to locate her.  
  
"By the way," Trish continues, "I brought along Alastor. Just in case, you know."  
  
This makes Dante laugh his heart out. "Damn, woman, how the hell did you manage to hide THAT? It's as big as me!"  
"Simple. Women-have-more-creative-minds-than-men-do," Trish answers casually.  
  
Dante can just imagine her grinning. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, Trish, but I pick guns over swords anytime.   
Those King-Arthur-Knight-era days are over. Get with the program, darling. Ain't nothing better than having a Pinocchio   
puppet go splat upon impact of a bullet."  
  
"Yeah, or so you say. But I have Alastor for you anyway. Guns aren't always the answer to everything, Dante.   
And they'll probably be days where Alastor can kick more ass than those puny pistols of yours."  
  
"Whatever. I'm hanging up now. It's bad enough that getting paid for this gig is hard to come by, but now I   
have to pay phone bills so I can keep in contact with my 'sidekick'. One of the pleasures of working alone is not having   
to pay for extra fees, honey."  
  
"Yeah," Trish begins sarcastically, "Lord knows, I'd 'hate' for you to pay for my tampons when you could be   
phoning those '1-900' calls."  
  
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Trish. I'm rocking out. Call ONLY if you need to."  
  
"Cheapskate," Dante hears before the two hang up.  
  
Dante returns his attention to the waitress whom he gives credit for being patient. She brushes back her hair   
again, still observing him with interested eyes. In a weird kind of way, he'd like to show her how he REALLY looks like.   
Maybe to see if she still digs him as cute. Ha. That'll be the day. But he won't, or, in this case, can't. For some odd   
reason, he can't invoke his Devil Trigger without that large-ass sword, Alastor. Force Edge also works, but only if it   
is transformed into its true form, Sparda. And last time he checked, not only does it effectively work exclusively in   
the underworld, but he also gave it to Trish since he has Alastor as it is. He can only guess that him Devil triggering   
has something to do with ancient weapons being contaminated with demon blood of the past. Maybe that blood invokes his   
devil side. After all, back at a certain island he visited a couple of weeks ago, a statue called the Watcher of Time   
was only called by if he had successfully gained the blood of his defeated enemies. Whatever. It's just a guess.  
  
"What time do you get out, babe?" he asks as he drinks his shot.  
  
"My shift's over at ten," the waitress answers immediately, excited.  
  
Dante is about to continue the 'conversation' until he sees a tall, attractive woman dressed in all red leather,   
walking toward the bald man. Dante's eyes narrow coldly. Already he knows this woman really isn't a woman. The way she   
moves, the way she... smells... it spells demon all over.  
  
The waitress turns and notices Dante looking at the extremely beautiful woman across. Misinterpreting this as   
him checking out another 'babe', she grabs one of the glasses on her tray and flings the liquid all over his face.  
"Men!" she grumbles as she storms off, "You're all the same!"  
  
"Ow!" Dante squints, feeling a burning sensation over his eyes, "Damn! That hurts..."  
  
His phone rings but Dante doesn't bother answering it. He already knows that he should be on the move now.   
Ignoring the painful sting in his eyes, he stands up to approach the red-leathered woman with the now-frightened bald   
man.  
  
"What's the matter?" the red-clothed woman whispers gently to bald the man as she sits next to him, not noticing   
a white haired man walking from behind. "You look... nervous."  
  
"I'm- I'm fine, Laura," the bald man tries to sound calm, trying not to give the devil hunter away by staring   
at his direction.  
  
"Scared that your wife might catch us here?" the clocked demon smiles seductively, still oblivious.  
  
"Uh, yeah," the bald man lies, "Yeah, that's it. I'm scared she's here. You know wives these days... They   
carry weapons and plead insanity once they shoot their cheating husbands over fifty times."  
  
"Don't worry about it," she replies soothingly and places a beautiful hand on his lap, "I'm here. I won't let   
anything happen to you. And besides, it's not cheating. It's love. So are we going to my place again?"  
  
"Um, well... I..." the bald man begins.  
  
"I hope this isn't about me telling you that I'm actually a..."  
  
"Excuse me, missy," Dante cuts in, standing over the demon woman now, momentarily checking the bald man to see   
if he's all right. "Mind if I cut it?"  
  
At first, the demon woman is confused. She senses something awkward about the man standing next to her.   
Everything from his hair to his eyes. She later returns her gaze back at the bald man. Confused. She knows something   
is up but can't place her finger on it. When she looks back at Dante, however, she finally realizes what's going on.   
Betrayed, she instantly gets up and does a hand swipe with large and sharp finger nails at the bald man across the chest.   
With lighting speed, she quickly runs through the crowded casino to retreat.  
  
"Wonderful," Dante mutters as he runs to assist the man with the wound soaking his white shirt with blood,   
trying to ignore a couple of security guards who notice the scene.  
  
"No!" the bald man yells to Dante on the ground, "I'm fine. But get her! Get that horrible devil and make her   
scream like the pig that she is!"  
  
Something about that response hits Dante at home. Sure, he likes carnage and there's nothing better than   
hearing the bad guys get theirs. But...  
  
"Go!" the once-silent-but-now-vocal-man screams with prejudice. "Get her! KILL HER! I didn't pay you just to   
stand around, I paid you to get that devil bitch!"  
  
Without a word, Dante stands up. Despite some of the thoughts rushing through his mind, he begins tracking   
the demon. Before the security cops arrive at his last location, he's already lost among the crowd of gamblers who are   
all too busy gambling to notice the scene.  
  
Outside the entrance of the casino, the demon woman runs as fast as she can out of the casino. Several cars   
nearly run over her as she dashes across a street. They beep at her, screaming and cursing. The lights from nearby hotels   
and other casinos momentarily blind her and the crowds of people make her feel claustrophobic. Wide eyed like a deer   
caught in the tail of a car's headlights, the woman demon stares at the incoming traffic in bewilderment. One of the   
cars is about to collide with her but she leaps up high into the air before it can connect. The driver, awed by the   
scene, doesn't pay attention to the road ahead and clashes against another driver, which then causes a chain reaction   
all over the block.  
  
Dante instantly sees the crashes of cars as he exits the casino a few seconds later. He immediately scans the   
area for the rogue devil and catches on a scent. He runs and leaps over the damaged cars with very high and inhuman   
jumps, starting the hunt.  
  
Already a few blocks away, the demon woman continues running for her life, going into a deep and dark alley   
way. Her fake human body begins to fade and her once milky white skin begins to ripple. She momentarily stops running   
and feels the heat of pain run through her body as it transforms back to its original form.  
  
"No!" she screams as her eyes bulge with red and her back begins to split into half with blood spilling   
everywhere.  
  
Large horn-like bones emerge from her back, stretching painfully outwards with wet sounds as the muddy ground   
spills with now green blood. The devil howls up at the pale white moon above as once-delicate feet turn brittle and   
into a decayed color. Toe and fingernails turn black, increasing its length and sharpness. Her breast sag downwards,   
melting away from her chest to reveal a harden and dark bone-like structure. In the end, a hideous creature replaces   
everything once remotely human.  
  
The devil, now completely transformed, resumes sprinting down the misty and near black alleyway. She runs and   
is about to reach the street beyond it until a red motorcycle pulls over and blocks the way. A woman with dark clothes,   
glasses, and long brownish flowing hair points a sawed-off shotgun towards her direction, instantly making the demon   
stop. The devil decides to retreat the other way but that path is cut off too, as a whitehead man dressed in a red   
trench coat slowly emerges from the misty alleyway. He carries two different colored pistols on both gloved hands as   
he walks towards her.  
  
"Please... don't..." the demon woman says but in an awkward language that she's aware neither the woman or   
man can understand.  
  
Dante points Ebony, his black colored gun, at the creature, not understanding the words the devil used. But   
they're most likely the language used when darkness once covered the world, or so the story goes. In any account, the   
language this demon speaks might be the very first language ever spoken by tongue. His old man probably spoke it too.   
If only he knew it so that he can make out the demon's words. But deep down... he already knows what it means. He sees   
it in the devil's eyes.  
  
"Dante?" the black clothed woman says from behind the devil, "Do you want me to take care of it?"  
  
Dante doesn't reply. He remains silent, still pointing the gun at the demon but not firing. Hesitating.   
Thinking. Waiting. No... he thinks at a single thought that crosses over his mind. He has to. He has to take it down,   
at whatever cost. It's his job. It's what he's sworn to do. For his mom. His brother. His father. Everyone. He needs   
to take out each and every demon that comes his way. It's... it's his job... Job. Everyone. Right? Kill. Mother.   
Destroy. Brother. Annihilate the bastards. Father. But...  
  
"Please... don't..." the demon replies again in the same weird language.  
  
"Dante?" the woman with the glasses asks again, slightly lowering her shotgun. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing..." he answers coldly and holsters his twin guns, "Trish, give me Alastor."  
  
Trish glances at Dante very puzzled. Alastor? Why does he need Alastor? Why not shoot it down and get it over   
with? Didn't he prefer guns over swords anyway?  
  
The demon sees the dark clothed woman recover an extremely large and lethal sword from her motorcycle's side.   
It sparks with electricity and power, so much that it scares the devil. Meanwhile, Trish throws it at the Dante who   
catches it by the handle with ease. Shocked by the knowledge of what's going to happen in the next few seconds, the   
devil pushes itself against a wall, pinned down, unable to summon up its own strength. It now knows who this white   
haired man is. It's the son of Sparda, a devil slayer regardless of him being a part of them too.  
  
Dante nears the demon woman, readying his sword and gazing in a stone face. Cold. Hard. Even as she pleads   
again, the white man still approaches her, seemingly oblivious to her.  
  
Meanwhile, Trish gets off her bike, sensing something off about her partner. His once light blue eyes now flash   
red as he steps in front of the devil's face. Something's off with him, she can feel it. Before she can question it,   
Dante raises Alastor high above and swipes sharply towards the demon. It's quick, almost painless. But once the devil   
observes its fresh wound, it yells in agony. Its entire arm is cut off! Green blood sprays the pavement of the wall   
she falls against. Still pleading, the devil tries to retrieve its arm from the ground. Yet, Dante grabs it before   
she gets the chance to and eyes her coldly once more, hand ready with the sword. The devil looks up at the slayer,   
anticipating another strike. Strangely enough, Dante just turns away from her.  
  
"I'm taking your arm," he says indifferently to her, "You're a demon... you'll be able to recover soon..."  
  
"What?" Trish begins, seeing that Dante has no intention of taking out the demon at all.  
  
"But if I ever see you again," Dante continues very hard to the devil, back still facing her, "I'll take off   
with more than your arm. Understand?"  
  
The demon slowly nods, grateful that the slayer is showing mercy to her. But regardless of that, she moves as   
fast as she can since this 'mercy' doesn't seem absolute if she sticks around longer than intended.  
  
Trish takes off her glasses in silence, watching the demon run deep into the night until she completely loses   
track of it. She doesn't bother looking at Dante.  
  
"Why did we even take this assignment if you weren't prepared to follow it through?" she finally says.  
  
"But we did," Dante replies quietly, looking at the hideous blood soaked arm he possesses in his hands. "Guy   
wanted evidence that we axed her, so here it is."  
  
"Yeah, he wanted evidence to indicate that we killed her, Dante."  
  
Dante ignores her and starts walking toward the red motorcycle, soon starting it up. Trish shakes her head   
regrettably as she puts back her shades, knowing that any talk from him will only come when he's ready. Yeah, right,   
she knows. Like he's that open about himself? Whatever was on his mind will probably stay there. He's always been the   
secretive and closed up type. Sighing with that, Trish goes over and rests at the back seat of the bike. Trish could   
almost swear that the bike itself is ticked off too, roaring out loud as they speed off into the night.  
  
Meanwhile, at the corner of a street a few blocks away from the alley, an extremely old woman watches the   
two hunters driving away. She squints her light gray eyes at them. Silent. Listening. Smelling their scent. The cane   
her hand holds onto quivers slightly as she balances herself with it. She squints again, seeing only a red spot now   
from far away, hearing only the echoing roar coming from the engine the hunters ride then. The old hag stops squinting.   
And then she smiles with her bright red eyes that pierces deep into the chilling night. She smiles again and again and   
again. It's certainly a wicked smile at that. 


	2. Unexpected Visit

Chapter 2: Unexpected Visit  
  
Quietly and trying desperately to keep his dinner inside his stomach, the bald man looks   
at the distorted arm on Dante's table. The clock nearby ticks out loud during this   
silence, as if waiting for the bald man to vomit. From behind, Trish wants to laugh, but   
a hard glance from her partner on the other side of the room forces her not too. Instead,   
she glances over at all the trophy heads on the wall Dante has collected before her arrival   
here at Devil Never Cry. There's no way to know how old they are but some of the creatures   
were ones she once fought alongside with, where she once worked to plot to kill the son of   
Sparda. Again, she wants to laugh but for another reason this time around.   
  
Oh, the irony of it all, she thinks. Just a couple weeks ago, she nearly died after her   
former 'employer' struck her down at full force, a hit tended to kill Dante. But call it   
her human side, she took the hit for him so that he could live and consequently, she died   
for it. As to why or how she came back to life she may never know. About the only thing she   
actually remembers is seeing Sparda's sword by her side as well as a very special amulet   
necklace Dante wore, a necklace given by his mother. A mother, if she can recall, whom she   
greatly resembles.  
  
Trish looks down at the floor, thinking about that. Wondering. Her employer, Mundus, an   
evil devil prince, created her in a scheme to lure Dante to him so that he could be killed.   
After all, about two thousands years ago, Mundus was imprisoned by Dante's father, Sparda.   
Mundus had planned to be resurrected at an island called Mallet Island. While Sparda, his   
slayer, died, Mundus still feared that the Sparda blood would be his undoing. As a result,   
he decided to make copies of Dante's mother and brother in a plot to gain his trust. The   
product was she and another figure called Nelo Angelo.   
  
She doesn't know what happened. While Nelo Angelo, a clone of Dante's brother called Vergil,   
played his part well, she slowly began to... change. Maybe it was Dante's power that convinced   
her that playing on the right field was best. Maybe it was Dante's cockiness and his ability   
to not fear the obstacles that he was forced to face. Or maybe, just maybe, it was his   
compassionate heart that made her choose him and humanity over Mundus. Yeah. Maybe.  
  
But since that time they first met, neither of them knows how to react to each other. She still   
looks like his mother. So how EXACTLY does Dante see her? Sure, he'll call her 'babe' or   
'honey' or 'doll' or all those other words. But they seemed to be forced from him. It's as if   
he's trying so hard to address her as an individual than the woman on his bedroom's picture   
frame, his mother. She's never confronted this to him and somehow, gets the impression that   
he doesn't want to talk about it. Still, she could be just overacting. The important thing is,   
after all, is that they care for each other. It could be in a mother-and-son way, or a man-and-  
woman way, or whatever the case. They're on the same page, that's all that should matter.  
  
"So you hid the body right after you killed her, right?" the bald man replies after a long   
time, "And... she won't be coming back to life, right?"  
  
Sitting comfortably behind his desk, Dante simply nods, causing a strand of silver hair to fall   
over his right eye. He looks a bit bored and impatient.  
  
"So..." the bald man continues slowly, relieved more than disgusted by the arm on the desk now,   
"It's over? No future problems?"  
  
"When I do a job I'm VERY thorough," Dante replies smoothly.   
  
The bald just stares at the arm. Thinking. Dante blows a loud puff of air and crosses his hands   
behind his head, wanting to get rid of this guy already, hoping that by puffing out loud he'll   
take the hint. Just looking at him makes him want to Devil-Trigger his ass out of here.   
Unfortunately, the devil hunter realizes that the bald man is still here.  
  
"Go home," Dante goes straight to the point, trying to be calm, "You won't be getting visits   
from her again. And if you do, and that's a very big IF, you know where to call."  
  
"Are you saying that demons can resurrect?" the bald man jumps in, panicked.  
  
"No. Once they're dead, they're dead," Trish puts in.  
  
"But..." the man begins, pointing at Dante, "He just said..."  
  
"Dead," Trish replies, feeling annoyed herself, "As in, no longer among us. Got it?"  
  
"Um, yeah. Um, good... Good... All right..."   
  
Another long moment of silence as the bald man resumes looking at the arm. The minutes pass and   
the clock keeps ticking. Trish sucks on her lower lip while Dante taps his fingers on the desk.   
Waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Waiting until...  
  
"Are you leaving anytime this century, man?" Dante says, finally fed up. "What? You want the   
arm? That why you're taking so damn long? Here. Be my guest."  
  
Dante grabs the arm, preparing to literally throw it at him.  
  
"No!" the bald man squeals, covering his face with his hands, "No, heaven, no! I don't want that   
disgusting thing anywhere NEAR me!"  
  
"Then make like a tree and leave, amigo. This ain't a museum. You paid me to get rid of the   
demon chick, I did. Now get lost."  
  
The bald man slowly nods as he grabs his hat near the coat racket and heads for the door, "Okay...   
okay. Good, good, very good."  
  
"Have a nice day," Trish says very dully nearby, "And remember that the next job has a half price   
discount."  
  
Dante can't help but to grin, seeing that Trish is finally picking up a sense of humor. Or at   
least he hopes so.  
  
"Is that really true?" the bald man says a bit excitedly.  
  
"No, dimwit," the white-haired devil hunter impatiently stands up to aid the bald man out of DNC   
faster, "Now get loss or I'll have your arm on this desk too."  
  
Quickly and scared, the bald man scurries to his Ferrari and speeds away as fast as he can,   
muttering something too fast to make any sense. Dante mutters a curse word as he slams the door   
closed, soon strolling over to the back of DNC. Trish follows him.  
  
"Jeez, I thought he'd never leave," Trish says.  
  
"Yeah. Even Mundus sounds better to deal with than that idiot," he replies crisply as he enters,   
what looks like, a kitchen area.  
  
"Good joke, by the way, doll. Seems like the School of Dante Humor is finally kicking in some."   
He opens the fridge near the counter and takes a beer bottle from it. He opens the metal cap with   
his bare teeth, spitting the cap at a nearby trashcan.  
  
"I'm working on it," Trish smiles as she fetches out bread, cheese, lettuce, and ham to make   
herself a sandwich. She gestures at the bread. "Do you want one too?"  
  
"Naw," he drinks a large dose of his beer, "I've gotta take a quick shower and get ready."  
  
"Ready?" Trish scoffs as she prepares her sandwich, "Ready for what?"  
  
"The show," he answers simply and leaves his bottle of beer on the counter, already entering   
another room with stairs leading upward.  
  
Completely confused, Trish stops to follow him. By the time she arrives at the next room, he's   
already up the staircase and heading for his room. The man's fast.  
  
"Show?" she calls out from where she stands. "What show?"  
  
"Didn't you know?" he answers with a smile as he takes off his coat before disappearing behind a   
hallway. He continues but the walls muffle his voice. "I play in a band every Friday. Where do you   
think I was LAST Friday?"  
  
"On a date," Trish replies and goes up the stairs for a better explanation.  
  
In his bedroom, Dante removes his vest and then black shirt, soon throwing both on the floor. He   
unbuckles his belt and is about to unzip the zipper. He stops when he notices Trish at the doorway.  
  
"A little privacy would be nice, babe," he goes to close the door.  
  
"Not until you tell me more about this," her hand blocks the door. "I want to know where my   
partner is in case I get a call about a demon portal opening."  
  
Dante sighs, standing near the doorway with his hand on the door too.  
  
"I play at Vertigo, a club a few blocks away from here. Okay? I'm the drummer there."  
  
"Drummer?" Trish realizes, "I guess that explains the drum sets downstairs and why you're   
continuously playing that annoying racket in the middle of the night."  
  
"First off, it ain't racket. It's music. Second, you already know that freelance demon hunting for   
a living doesn't always put food on the table. And third, with you on board, I've seriously gotta   
take this job."  
  
"You make it sound like you don't want me here..." Trish replies softly and drops her hand to her   
side, preparing to leave his sight.  
  
Before she can turn away, Dante reaches for her shoulder and turns her to face him.  
  
"No," he shakes his head. He pauses, trying to find the right words. "Look... I like your company.   
You're the only person in this entire planet to see and understand what I go through. It's nice to   
talk over some things that I need to get out. But most importantly, I owe you my life. That's why   
I've got to do this gig. I owe you."  
  
"Yeah?" Trish responds, unconvinced, "Then why don't you tell me what was going through your head   
a few hours ago. Why didn't you take out that demon woman? I'm not saying that it was wrong but...   
You didn't seem like yourself."  
  
Dante stops, hesitating before answering that. Later, he slumps against the door and glances   
downward.  
  
"I... really don't know myself," he tells Trish very slowly, "One minute I was ready to kick her   
to the next underworld and then the next... I... I really don't know what exactly happened to me   
back there."  
  
He looks up, staring straight at Trish's face.  
  
"Can we leave it alone, Trish? I mean..."  
  
"No, you don't need to explain anymore, Dante," she smiles, understanding even though she really   
doesn't understand, "That's okay. We'll leave it alone. Maybe you froze or something. In any case,   
I'm here if you ever decide to want to talk about it in the future."  
  
"Thanks... It means lot."  
  
Trish simply smiles before going back downstairs to fix up her sandwich. Dante remains slumped   
against the bedroom's door. He curses to himself for just lying straight out at Trish's face   
because the truth of the reality is, he knows EXACTLY why he didn't want to kill the demon woman.   
And it scares him.   
  
He's so nervous deep down, nervous that everything around him is changing. His life. His ideals.   
His values. His views. Everything. And it scares the living hell out of him. Slaying devils is a   
part of his job, but these days, it's like he's hacking up on his own brother.  
  
Ever since the Mallet incident he's been thinking of devils in a different sort of way. Up until   
then, he never knew how it was to be killed for what you are. He hunted demons and that was the   
end of the story. And then... he transformed. He transformed into one of THEM. He felt what they   
felt, felt the passion of killing flow freely through his inhuman veins. He craved for it,   
understanding why the kill was so... inspiring in some wicked way. Shit, is he like them after   
all? Has he been fighting for the wrong reasons? And have the demons he's slain previously felt   
the same way as he does?  
  
The reason why he didn't kill the demon woman was because she did nothing wrong, except steal   
another woman's man. All that demon wanted was love. She loved that bald idiot so much that she   
risked exposing her true nature to him. She thought the human would accept her, only to be   
betrayed in the end and be hunted by a man who's faced that... prejudice... too.   
  
Is it right then? Is it right to kill all of them, not knowing that the demons might want what   
humans want? Love? Comfort? Acceptance? His own father fought his demon side and chose humanity!   
How many Spardas did he kill for the sake of revenge? HOW MANY? Yet, here he is. Slumping against   
this crumbling wall and feeling just as uncertain as he was the day when his mom told him about   
what he really was. Hacking away at any demon that comes his way or for any one willing to pay   
him a good price. Jesus. Is he just as sick as creeps like Mundus? How can he tell Trish this?   
How can he? She sacrificed her own life to save his. Later, she followed him here and joined him   
in the quest to destroy all demons. And now... She might not realize it right now, but she may   
have joined another Mundus character, just with a different face and name.  
  
Disgusted at himself, Dante finally closes the door and heads for the bathroom to take his shower,   
hoping that by the end of it he'll feel a little better. If that doesn't help, he'll just drink   
bottle after bottle after the band act until he passes out. Maybe it'll make him forget who he is   
for a short while. Yeah.  
  
  
  
  
Heat from the sweat of moving bodies makes the club misty. Humid. Ecstatic. The different colored   
flashing lights from the ceiling turn on and off fast, moving over the crowd of young men and women   
looking for a good time. Women scream at the top of their lungs, waving their hands up in the air   
to move to the beat of heavy rock and roll music that fills their souls. Some of them, either   
underage or college students enjoying their vacation, sit on the shoulders of their men, exposing   
themselves and laughing. Many men stock up on booze. Drinking. Laughing. Cursing. Making out.   
Causing bloody fights. Meanwhile, the bartenders run frantically at their station, trying to supply   
drinks to the next person in line. It's one o' clock in the morning but the crowd is huge. No   
surprise since tonight's band ALWAYS summons the wild and fury.  
  
Behind a large metal cage, Dante plays his heart out, hitting beat after beat with his drumsticks.   
A neon green light from the ceiling showers over him. Sweat drips from the bangs of his silver hair,   
moving down to his naked glistening chest where an exposed skeleton tattoo is. The gold piercing on   
his right nipple shines. He bobs his head back and forth, moving his hands brilliantly fast across   
his drum set as he keeps up with the band's tempo. In a way, it's relaxing playing here. Each pound   
equals a punch to all his frustrations. Even if it doesn't last long, he can just... forget his   
life. Forget who and what he is.  
  
Mac, the lead singer of the band who plays his electric guitar as if he's making love to it, shifts   
his attention to Dante. The drummer grins, knowing that he's about to go solo after a few words   
from Mac. Mac resumes looking over the crowd behind the cage. He smiles and finishes his last notes,   
consequently shifting to Dante's small solo. Once Dante gets started on it the crowd silences and   
awes as they watch their favorite drummer pound his drumsticks faster and faster across his drum   
set. It's nearly at lightening speed, loud and hard, as they all like it to be. The crowd screams   
when Dante reaches his peak, seeing only a blur as his hands move about. They applaud with mass   
numbers once Dante is finished, even when the other band members join in to wrap up the song. Dante   
ends it with a few more strokes. Once again, the crowd goes wild.  
  
"Bloody thank you, mates!" the lead singer, revealing his Australian accent, shouts out loud to the   
audience. He gives a hand gesture towards Dante's direction. "Now you tell me, don't we have the   
most bitching drummer in the universe!"  
  
The crowd screams, agreeing. Dante chuckles, seeing several of the college women near the metal   
cage pull up their shirts, pouring beer on their chests. Damn, it feels good being here, he thinks   
and smiles. The singer laughs and orders the guards to open the cage. The moment they do, the   
singer jumps into the mass of people, being carried off by them.  
  
"Dante!" his lead singer yells out to him, "Join the fun, baby! You haven't enjoyed life to the   
max until you've been carried away by your angels, mate!"  
  
Dante stands up from his station, seeing his other band members jump into "the pit" too. He's been   
doing this band act for a while but with all the stuff he's been up, hacking up the devils and   
closing demon portals, he's hardly had the time to be at the end of the show. This is his first   
time. Weird. He usually leaves early after a call, letting his tentative replacement fill in the   
gap. Today, however, he's got some serious R&R time.   
  
With that, Dante jumps down from the now open cage and into his audience. He laughs and howls like   
a wolf as he feels the hands of his fans touch him from all over, carrying him, not letting him   
drop. Jesus! It's just like Mac said! He feels like he's in ecstasy, being carried off by angels!   
  
Eventually, his 'angels' let him down to the ground. Still guffawing, he strolls over to the bar   
area to order a beer. It's difficult ordering it, though, since men and women surround him,   
praising him for his talents. Even the bartender joins in.  
  
"Fuck, man, you kick some serious ass!" a shaved headed rocker yells from Dante's right, obviously   
high on something. "Maybe you should go pro or something!"  
  
"Yeah," adds another admirer, a woman, "You can earn the big dough there! Hey, can you give me your   
autograph? Your phone number, maybe?"  
  
The rest of the comments are all the same. Dante really doesn't care, though. Just being here and   
having NORMAL folks talking to him about heavy rock music helps him cope with his unusual life.   
He drinks a large dose of his beverage, wiping some of his chin's sweat with the back of his hand.   
Man, it's hot here.  
  
"Here," a woman says, offering a clean towel to his left.  
  
"Thanks, honey," he replies without looking at the woman.  
  
"You're really good," the same woman continues.  
  
"Thanks," he drinks his beer, still not looking.  
  
"...You really move fast."  
  
"Sure. Whatever, babe." Obviously, he has no interest since his eyes are glued to his beer.  
  
"...You really enjoy it, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"...You must've practiced a lot."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"... I mean, playing that good needs time and patience."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"... It's hard to believe that you can play drums like that while you hunt demons for a living,   
hoping to avenge your mother's and brother's death."  
  
This makes Dante sit rigid on the bar's stool. He slowly turns around, finally viewing the woman.   
Her hair is the blackest of night and her eyes have a somewhat reddish brown color. She wears a   
black t-shirt displaying one of Dante's personal favorite heavy rock bands, having faded and torn   
blue jeans fitted against her toned and slender body. She looks around her early twenties,   
extremely attractive in a natural way. Confident.  
  
"What did you say?" Dante slowly asks. NOW she has his full attention.  
  
"I said that you're very good," she replies as if she said nothing wrong and takes a seat near   
him, ordering a shot of whiskey.  
  
"No, I want to know what you told me right now."  
  
"Maybe if you paid attention the first time around, you wouldn't ask me to repeat myself."  
  
"Don't fuck with me," he tries to keep his cool, "Tell me what you just said."  
  
"I don't remember," she playfully inserts, "You tell me. What do you think I said?"  
  
"Stop playing mind games, woman."  
  
"But don't you like your girls like that? Mysterious? Beautiful? Plays a lot?"  
  
"Stop it. And how did you know that I like...?" he stops, becomes silent. He looks at the woman   
VERY hard. Who IS she? At first, a possibility of her being a demon crossed his mind, but he   
doesn't sense anything demonic about her. Well, except that attitude of hers...  
  
"What? What did I say?" she asks innocently, noticing him looking at her very hostile. She takes   
her drink from the bartender and smiles.  
  
"It's what you're NOT saying that's pissing me off, honey. You know about my personal business,   
I want to know why. And how."  
  
"Personal business?" she shrugs, "What's that mean?"  
  
"You KNOW what I mean!" Jesus, this girl's causing his blood pressure to jump up a notch! If only   
she were a demon he'd axe her this very second!  
  
"No, I don't. How would 'I' know about your personal business? We've never met."  
  
"You just told me that you know about my mother's and brother's death! That's personal business   
according to my dictionary!"  
  
"I said that?" she asks playfully.  
  
"YES! In fact, that's what I wanted to hear from you in the first place!"  
  
"Then, if you heard me right, why are you asking me to repeat myself?"  
  
Red-faced, Dante grabs the woman's arm and with her, prepares to storm out of the club to have   
'a talk' with her. Mac, who's got two young women on both of his sides, grins.  
  
"Hey, Dante," Mac shouts from where he stands, noticing the brunette Dante has with him. "Nice   
catch! She's a beauty, mate!"  
  
Dante ignores him and heads out with the mysterious woman through the rear exit of the club.   
They arrive at an old, trashed-up alleyway. Dante pushes the woman against the brick wall.  
  
"Talk!" he demands, pinning her shoulders down with both hands.  
  
"Talk?" she begins. This time, surprisingly, she's serious. "Talk about what? Do you want me to   
talk about your career in a band? Or your vengeance?"  
  
Dante slowly removes his hands from her shoulders. "My vengeance."  
  
"I know everything there is to know about you, Dante," the woman starts, "Your birthplace... your   
age... your height... your flavors... I know everything there is to know about you, Dante.   
Dante... the son of Sparda."  
  
"How?"  
  
"I think the real question should be 'why'."  
  
"Okay, then, WHY?"  
  
"Because I want to help you, Dante."  
  
"And how do you plan to do that?"  
  
"By helping you save the souls of your brother and mother."  
  
Dante becomes mute, disturbed. "What do you mean?"  
  
"They're in hell," she replies, "They're trapped there by the Lord of the Underworld himself...   
Satan."  
  
"Satan?" laughs Dante, skeptical, "I always thought he was just a made up character made up by   
religious folks. Mundus, now he's the guy who runs the joint."   
  
"Mundus was only a prince," the woman responds, "He wanted to conquer Earth to prove he was   
superior to all dark creatures. The Mallet Island, the place where he was to resurrect himself,   
was to be his palace. Unfortunately, his own ego was his undoing. He overestimated the son of   
the man that defeated him two thousand years ago. If he was only a dark prince, Dante, you have   
to wonder who the King of the Underworld REALLY is."  
  
"I've been around the world, lady," Dante starts, shaking his head in disbelief, "I've tracked   
demons who can morph into humans, to witch-like creatures who carry large scythes, and believe   
me, I've never, at any time, even heard of this Satan guy actually being real."  
  
"The greatest trick Satan has achieved, Dante, is by making people think that he doesn't exist   
at all."  
  
Dante chuckles. "Look, I really don't know how you know me or my personal business, but you know   
what? I don't care anymore. You go on saying that Satan really exists, meanwhile, I'll hack away   
at the evil that really DOES exist. Okay?"  
  
He opens the exit door of the club, preparing to collect his belongings from his dresser room and   
head home. Shit, he thought coming here would make him forget about everything. He was wrong.  
  
"You can't run away from this, Dante!" the woman yells after him, "It doesn't matter whether or   
not you believe in Satan, because the truth of the matter is, your brother's and mother's souls   
are there in hell. Their souls are trapped there and only you can save them!"  
  
Dante stops, his back facing her.  
  
"That's right, Dante," she continues, "If you don't help them in three days from now, they'll be   
no hope in releasing them. You only have these three days to help them."  
  
Dante faces her again, slowly walking towards her. "Provided that I DID believe, lady... Provided   
that I THOUGHT this Satan guy was real... How EXACTLY could I help my brother and mother?"  
  
"With the help of the Book of the Dead."  
  
Again, Dante laughs.  
  
"This is serious!" the woman commands, seeing that he doesn't believe in that either. "The Book   
of the Dead is real!"  
  
"First Satan, and now the Book of the Dead..." Dante scratches the back of his head. "Jeez, I   
wonder what's next. Santa Claus? Or, no, let me guess, the TOOTH FAIRY?"  
  
"But..."  
  
"I've had enough of you, darling," he spits and opens the door, "I'm out of here. Today, you   
were lucky since I'm working as the drummer of the band, not hunter of demons. But the next time   
I see you, even if it's here, you'll most likely end up on the 'Have you seen me' picture at the   
back of a milk carton. Adios."  
  
Dante leaves the woman behind, really trying not to care about what she just said. Satan... Book   
of the Dead... Like HELL he'll believe any of that bullshit.  
  
  
  
  
Yawning and trying hard not to dose off, Trish checks the clock that ticks loudly in her awfully   
silent bedroom. It's the same clock that's in the shape of a devil's head. It's even got the cute   
little horns sticking out. Trish looks away from it, sleepy. Instead, she shifts her attention to   
the images provided by the small television across her bed. It's currently broadcasting a late night   
matinee featuring 'A Nightmare on Elm Street' followed by 'Friday the Thirteen'. The television,   
though, is on mute. She's only keeping it on so that she won't fall entirely asleep. After all,   
what was that old saying again? Oh yeah. Keep one eye open and keep the other closed.   
  
Trish grabs the remote control, tired of the gruesome image showing on her television. Like she   
hasn't seen enough blood and torture as it is? Lord, what was Dante thinking when he signed up for   
the sci-fi and horror station? Then again, this comes from the same guy who orders that dirty pay-  
per-view show every night of the week too.   
  
She glances back at the ticking clock. It's two o' clock in the morning. Dark outside. The air is   
chilly. She knows the moment she gets up from her bed she'll be consumed with Goosebumps caused by   
the cold night weather. Sometimes she wished that DNC was located somewhere else, somewhere where   
the weather was cozy and not either too hot or too cold.  
  
The phone on the nightstand by her side remains quiet. She glances at it, as if anticipating for   
it to ring. Nope. No call. She looks at it again, still weary to let her guard done. Trish sighs.   
Still... No calls. It's been like this since Dante left. This could be looked as a good sign, but   
also a bad one too. It's quiet. Too damn quiet. Even as she woke up this morning (no, excuse her,   
YESTERDAY morning), she's felt something sour about to turn up. At first, she thought it was the   
latest assignment given by that bald fellow. But everything went smoothly, with the exception of   
Dante not carrying out the death sentence. Still, nothing really bad happened as she first thought.   
No shocking events. Not even a feeling of it. Maybe it's all in her head? Maybe she's just being   
paranoid or something?   
  
And yet, the horrible sensation that loomed over her yesterday morning remains deep in the core   
of her soul, hidden for a while only to resurrect at this very moment. She feels it, feels some   
undefined horror about to happen which is why she doesn't want to go to sleep. Why can't she   
shake it off? Mother of mercy, she can literally think of it as a physical entity right now,   
sitting right here in this room with her. Waiting. Anxiously waiting... What's happening here?  
  
Her thoughts become distracted once she hears the door of the entrance to DNC open. She already   
knows who it is. She may not figure him out entirely, but Dante can stick out like a thorn when   
it comes to his moves. Walking. Standing still. Running. It's all the same with her. She can   
literally smell what he feels at any given moment and it surprises her each time that never,   
since she's been here that is, has she picked up the scent of fear from him. The guy has balls.   
She'll give him that.   
  
She hears him close the door softly, trying not to disturb his already-awaken partner from her   
slumber. Lord, bless him, Trish thinks. He may be an ass sometimes, filling her with his I'm-  
Rambo-attitude bullshit, but he really has a heart of gold.   
  
Trish remains motionless in her bed; carefully hearing the sound of Dante's feet creep about   
the lower level of DNC. He's drunk, she can tell. His moves... they're so familiar. The sound   
of something falling is heard and she thinks of getting up. She rejects the idea, soon hearing   
Dante go up the stairs... towards his room, maybe? No... he seems to be heading for her direction.   
He stops, stops near her door's entrance.  
  
Trish blinks, wondering. What's up with Dante? Below the small slit hole underneath her door,   
she can see his shadow outside. But he isn't moving. He's just standing outside her door.   
Suddenly, the doorknob turns and the door slowly opens wide. Trish sits up, seeing Dante there.   
The smell of liquor (whiskey, his favorite drink) invades her room. Trish looks at him, noticing   
the gloomy face he wears. Usually, he's 'upbeat' when he's drunk. However, this time it is   
different, somewhat uncomforting.  
  
"I thought you'd be awake," he finally says, voice heavy with sleep and liquor.  
  
"What's the matter? You look like you just took a blow from Mundus."  
  
"Trish..." he enters further into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed, "We need to talk.   
It's really important."  
  
Trish nods and moves towards the ledge of her bed.  
  
"Go on," she says. "Tell me what's going on."  
  
Dante's mouth is about to open but he stops, quickly grinning foolishly. Uncertain.  
  
"I can't BELIEVE I'm gonna ask you this," he mutters rapidly and rubs his eyes with the palms   
of his hands, trying really hard to summon up his strength. "Trish, I want to ask you... Does...   
Satan really exist? I mean... is he really real? Or is he make-believe?"  
  
Trish abruptly frowns. Jeez, it's two o' clock in the morning and Dante asks this question out   
of the blue. Strange...  
  
"Why are you asking me this?" she responds quietly.  
  
"Because you were once with Mundus. Surely, he told you SOMETHING about... this guy." He stops,   
looking unconvinced at even himself. "I don't know, maybe it's all just bullshit. Maybe I   
shouldn't be so damn gullible with mysterious chicks."  
  
"Dante?" Trish asks very worried. "What's going on?"  
  
Dante sighs, shaking his head slowly in dissatisfaction.  
  
"After the band act, a woman came by and told me that my brother's and mother's souls were   
stuck in hell somewhere," he explains, "With Satan. Can you believe that bullshit?"  
  
Trish doesn't say anything. Thinking.  
  
"Trish... please," Dante starts, "Talk to me. Is there anything in this that is... true?"  
  
Trish blinks. "They're in hell?"  
  
"That's what the woman said."  
  
"What woman?"  
  
"Some woman at the club, no one I knew. It was kind of funny that she knew everything about me too.   
My favorite drink, band... she knew everything. Even when Mundus sent you, you didn't know half   
as much as that chick I met did. This girl seriously did her homework."  
  
Trish wraps herself with her covers.  
  
"I'm sorry, Dante," Trish begins, "but I have no idea if he exists. I only served Mundus and he   
always left his servants out in the dark."  
  
"Then... there's a chance that it's all... made-up?"  
  
"I don't know, Dante. You've had your share of the unexpected. Maybe he really is real. And   
maybe he isn't. Who's to know for sure?"  
  
"I sure don't know. But... the thought of my brother's and mother's soul there, in hell... I   
can't shake that ugly feeling."  
  
"I understand. But I doubt we'll be able to think straight right this moment. How's about we   
look into this after we get some sleep?"  
  
Dante hesitates, first thinking of the three-day time limit that starts today since it's already   
tomorrow morning. He also thinks of telling her about the Book of the Dead. No... he finally   
decides. He'll leave it alone for now. He needs rest and he can't think straight right now   
anyway, not with him feeling like dirt. And once the hangover is through, he's seriously going   
into this subject. Seriously. 


	3. An Angel Come Calling - Day 1

Chapter 3: An Angel Come Calling - Day One  
  
Dante's head feels like a truck has just rammed into it. His throat somewhat is   
sore too, like a thousand knives piercing into its delicate skin, threatening to   
ripple it apart. He tries to clear the ugly sensation away from his throat but   
can't. Eyeing a trashcan near his foot, an idea strikes him and he grabs it. Snorting   
in very loudly, he lets out a large glob of 'stuff' from his throat into it. He   
snorts and spits again until the stuff in his throat is cleared. Yeah. That   
certainly feels good.   
  
He sees Trish coming over to his desk with a mug of coffee in her hand. She looks   
disgusted, no doubt about what he did with the trashcan, but she tries to ignore   
it. Dante mumbles something to her, a thank you, and carefully sips the hot contents   
from the mug. Yeah, that feels good. It's going down his throat smoothly and calming   
his twisted-knot stomach too.   
  
What a way to go... he thinks dully to himself. He meets a complete stranger who   
tells him of potentially important news right when he's drinking and going for a   
hangover in the next few hours. Couldn't she have appeared when his mind was clear   
or something? He turns on the radio next to him, trying to concentrate on the heavy   
rock than his hangover.  
  
"I took the liberty of going to the local library to pick up some books on this   
'Satan,' fellow, while you were in the bathroom puking," Trish bluntly says from across   
the room.  
  
"And?" Dante bobs his head to the beat of the music, soon putting his legs over the   
desk to rest more comfortably.  
  
"Not much that we haven't heard before."  
  
"Wonderful..."  
  
"But one of the books I scanned over this morning was... interesting," Trish says   
and holds up a black book she has in her hands.  
  
Dante smiles. Just seeing Trish with the book brings him back memories, where he'd   
remember seeing his mother, late at night, reading a book before going to sleep. In   
fact, she was inspired to name him after some author. Dante Alighieri, wasn't it? Even   
his brother was named after a book-related name. He looks at Trish, still holding the   
warm smile. Either it's a coincidence that Trish loves to read, or maybe it's just in   
the genes.  
  
"How long did it take you to 'scan over' it, Trish?"  
  
"About thirty minutes. Why?"  
  
Dante chuckles. Yep, mom sure was a fast reader too.  
  
"Nothing," he replies and continues listening to the radio. This time, he motions his   
hands, as if he's playing his drums. "So what did you find that was 'interesting'?"  
  
"Well, the source the author used to base his assumptions on Satan for one."  
  
"Uh-huh, so? What about him?"  
  
"The source comes from a powerful prophet, a sick and twisted one at that: Elijah.   
Supposedly, this 'prophet' was also the one who created the Book of the Dead..."  
  
"Wait a minute," Dante quickly stops her, putting down his legs from the desk and turning   
off the radio. Stone-faced. "The woman talked about that. The Book of the Dead, I mean."  
  
"What? What did she say?"  
  
"Something about it being the only thing to free my mother's and brother's souls from   
hell. But... is THAT even real?"  
  
"Again, I wouldn't know. I'm only going on what the author of this book states. He could   
be wrong or be one of those wacky characters out to gain publicity to earn a buck."  
  
"Yeah. But... let's ASSUME that it's true, okay? What exactly does that author talk   
about?"  
  
"Well, for one, the Book of the Dead is well hidden somewhere in Earth. In fact, it's so   
well hidden that not even Satan can find it himself. Supposedly, an angel sent from God,   
or as the book states, the Holy One, was told to conceal its locations."  
  
"Why? What's so big about this book?"  
  
"The Book of the Dead is, if it even exists, a powerful book. It calls on the powers of   
darkness to consume all light. Elijah was able to devise it with his visions."  
  
"Then, was Elijah working with Satan?"  
  
"No. Elijah once served under the Holy One. He was given special gifts, as everyone here   
on this world is. While Satan might be powerful, he doesn't have the power of creation   
and gifts like the Holy One does. He's only in control of darkness. Anyway, somewhere   
along the way, Elijah became corrupted. He used his gifts against the Holy One's will.   
The Holy One, seeing that Elijah's powerful visions could possibly disturb the dark and   
light balance, became worried. The Holy One became even more distraught once he learned   
that Elijah was composing his visions into a book, the Book of the Dead. He used the skin   
of those he murdered for its pages and cover, and their blood for ink."  
  
"Whoa... that's pretty sick."  
  
"Yeah, but it gets worse. The Book of the Dead was designed to give darkness the upper   
hand. Thus, consuming anything with light. As an outcome, each passage was beneficial to   
Satan and his evil minions. Fortunately, according to story, before Satan was able to   
obtain this book, one of the Holy One's angels retrieved it and hid it. The angel hid it   
so far and so well that no one, even to this day, can find it."  
  
"And Elijah? What happened to him?"  
  
"Shortly after his book was taken, he was also taken by the angels to prevent him from   
composing another book like it."  
  
"So, even though he was doing all this 'evil' he still went to Heaven?"  
  
"Not really, he's in Purgatory, as the author states. Heaven can't touch him. But neither   
can Hell. It'll be like that for eternity for him."  
  
Dante absorbs the information given by Trish. Great. Even if this stuff is real, if Satan   
himself can't find that damn book then what makes that clubwoman think HE can? Before he   
can further go into that thought, there's a knock on the door.  
  
"Come in," Dante shouts from where he's seated.  
  
The doorknob slowly twists. From a window, both Trish and Dante are able to view a young,   
red-haired and freckled face man fumble to get inside DNC. He wears a cheap brown suit   
that's too big for his scrawny body frame. Even the shiny black shoes are too large! There   
seems to be a slight indication that the man wanted to go for a sophisticated look, as if   
dressing himself for an interview. But the thin glasses and tacky brown suit design makes   
him look more like a total nerd. Everything just... clashes.   
  
Dante chuckles as the man struggles with the doorknob. Jesus, how much trouble should it be   
in opening a simple door? Feeling sorry for the guy, Dante motions Trish to help him.  
  
Trish greets the young man the moment she opens the door for him, trying hard not to laugh   
at his appearance. A large shower of light touches the back of the young man, illuminating   
his presence into the DNC quarters. For a while, he doesn't even notice the woman. He just   
stands there, viewing the interior of DNC with great interest. In a way, he looks like a   
child who's visiting his first toy store ever. Precious. Wide-eyed. Thrilled. There's   
definitely something about him. There's something naïve but pure.  
  
"Can we help you?" Trish asks, "Do you know the password?"  
  
"Uh, excuse me," the young man says politely, "Password?"  
  
"Yeah," Dante walks over to him, stopping near his near-nude poster girl. He slumps against   
it. "You know what I'm talking about, right?"  
  
"Sorry, I don't. I need a password to enter here?" he asks nervously, fiddling his fingers   
with a beautifully crafted necklace containing an exotic white pearl.  
  
"Look, we only talk to people who know the password. Surely, you'd know it by now if you   
found DNC from one of our past clients."  
  
"But I... I've never met one of your clients," the freckled face man says slowly. "Is   
there... any other way I can talk to you?"  
  
"Nope. You might as well turn around since I won't take on any other assignment."  
  
"Any other assignment?" the man quotes very confused.  
  
"Yeah. If you want a normal hit man, then go down this street and take a left, stop at the   
corner. He's the big guy with the large tattoo on his forehead. You can't miss him."  
  
"Hit man?" Again, the man is confused.  
  
"Look," Dante starts, beginning to become irritated, "I don't know how much I can help you.   
Just take my advice and go."  
  
"But I can't. I have to talk to you first."  
  
"I'm not taking on any other assignment, freckled-face, so get lost."  
  
"But what exactly is... an assignment?" the young man asks, trying his best to understand.  
  
"If you don't know what I do for a living, then why are you here in the first place?" laughs   
Dante, "If you decided to do a little touring across this fine city, I suggest you go   
somewhere else. I'm busy."  
  
"Touring? What does that mean?"  
  
Dante raises an eyebrow. Man, where has this nerd been in the past few centuries? He's totally   
out of it, not knowing a damn thing about anything. Is he high on something? Or is he trying   
to get on his nerves with these stupid questions he keeps asking?  
  
"Do you even KNOW who I am?" Dante asks.  
  
"No."  
  
"And you came to talk to me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Both Trish and Dante laugh. Jesus! And they thought they knew every psycho there was in this   
blue planet. Dante strolls over to the young man, taking his arm and leading him out.  
  
"Sorry, but I don't have time for this," he explains, "I hope you have a grand day, man,   
provided that you even KNOW what 'grand' means."  
  
"Please!" the young man struggles, "I need to talk to you! It's really important!"  
  
Trish watches Dante help the man out of DNC, still smiling. The grin slowly fades when she   
senses something. She quickly turns and notices Alastor glowing against the wall where it's   
hung next to Sparda. Slowly, she nears it. More electricity surges, so much that it electrocutes   
all the trophy heads on the wall near it. The loud noise catches Dante's attention and he   
momentarily lets go of the young man who's still struggling to get back in.  
  
"Trish?"  
  
"I... I don't know..." she answers, puzzled. "Alastor just..."  
  
Trish sees a bolt of electricity shoot out from Alastor again. She immediately ducks, as does   
Dante when he sees the electricity bounce off of Sparda's metal and towards his direction. Grounded,   
the two demon hunters continue watching the ancient weapon firing electricity, damaging anything   
that it comes into contact with.   
  
"Shit!" Dante spits from the floor, "It's pissed off!"  
  
He glances back to see if the young man's been hit or if he's gotten lost already. Surprisingly,   
the freckled face still remains, viewing everything in curiosity, standing still.  
  
"Get out!" commands Dante, "It's dangerous here!"  
  
But the man remains near the front entrance of DNC. Watching. Dante mutters an obscene word before   
crawling toward Alastor, hoping that he can somehow stop it. Afterwards, he's seriously going to   
kick that puny-freckled-face-guy in the ass.   
  
Proceeding carefully on the floor, Dante can barely hear Trish's protest because of Alastor's   
racket, but he ignores her. He's got to stop Alastor. Whatever is going on, Alastor seems to be   
in a very bad mood today. In fact, he's never seen this side of Alastor before.   
  
A large ramming noise occurs upstairs which makes him look up at the ceiling.  
  
"The hell...?"  
  
"Ifrit!" realizes Trish. "It must be acting up too!"  
  
Ifrit... another ancient weapon that takes the form of metal gauntlets. He took these special   
gauntlets, along with several other weapons (including Alastor and Sparda), from Mallet Island on   
his quest to destroy Mundus. Ifrit has the power of fire and strength all in one.   
  
Alastor, Sparda, and Ifrit helped him defeat Mundus. And now? Now Ifrit and Alastor are trashing up   
his place! What's the deal? Why is it only these two and not Sparda or any of the other weapons he   
took from Mallet Island? Is there a connection between Ifrit and Alastor?  
  
Suddenly, Dante senses someone near him. Looking up, he sees the freckled face walking toward   
Alastor, not afraid. Dante opens his mouth to say something but immediately shuts it. Both Trish and   
him look amazingly at the man, realizing that each of Alastor's bolts of electricity mysteriously   
bounce off of him. It's as if he's wearing an invisible shield!  
  
Calmly, the young man approaches Alastor. He gently smiles as he takes Alastor from its resting   
place. The moment his hand touches its handle, the electricity stops. Even Ifrit, who's obviously   
kept upstairs, has stopped. While Dante can only IMAGINE the damage Ifrit did to his bedroom,   
he's more curious of who this guy really is.  
  
Quiet, the young man turns to face both Trish and Dante.  
  
"I don't know what the 'password' is," he says very softly, "but I really need to talk to the son   
of Sparda. It's really important. Does either of you two know where I can find him?"  
  
  
  
  
Hours later, after Trish, Dante, and the young man help restore most of DNC back to its previous   
form, the three sit down to talk in the kitchen. The stranger has to fight the temptation to   
comment on how the kitchen, too, needs some fixing up, even if it wasn't affected during the fiasco   
hours ago. The dishes on the sink are piled up to the wall, filthy and filled with grime. Nearby is   
a stack of pizza boxes with age-old pizza still inside. He can even see a few cockroaches scurry   
into it, devouring anything left over. The dispenser a few feet away from him is also a sight for   
sore eyes. Broken bottles of beer and crumbled soda cans. A foul smell of, what, yogurt? Peels of   
bananas. A torn, dirty magazine. And some other stuff he doesn't want to go into. Here's hoping   
that the weird object he sees dangling down isn't what he think it is.  
  
The stranger politely tells Trish 'thank you' once she approaches him, a fixed sandwich in her   
hands. He can only pray that he doesn't find a roach in his sandwich.  
  
Meanwhile, Dante sits back against his chair. Curious. Worried. Pissed. Man, it seems that when   
work is slow one week, the workload piles up on the next. Just a second ago, he was talking with   
that woman at the club, and now this guy comes around. He, too, knows everything about him, with   
the exception of his name, that is. Still, everyone seems to know who and what he is. What's going   
on here? Is someone giving out his phone number? Damn, phone people...  
  
"All right," Dante crosses his arms across his chest, "tell me what's the deal. Why are you here   
and what did you want to talk to me about?"  
  
The young man, eating a bit of his sandwich and eyeing it in wonder after tasting it, turns his   
attention to the white-haired man.  
  
"Well, I'd like to introduce myself to you, Mr. Dante." He offers Dante his hand to shake. "My   
name's Socrates. Nice to meet you."  
  
"Socrates?" Dante shakes his hand and then resumes crossing his arms across his chest, indifferent   
to him. "That's a weird name. You from around here?"  
  
"Um, no."  
  
"So you're a foreigner?"  
  
"Yes, in a way I am."  
  
"From where?" Trish asks, trying to make a friendly conversation.  
  
"I... I wish I could tell you but... I'm afraid you wouldn't believe me even if I told you."  
  
"Ha," chuckles Dante, "I've seen some crazy shit in my life. You'll probably be no different from   
the rest. So, go on. Enlighten us."  
  
"Okay..." Socrates begins softly, twirling his necklace now. Nervous. "I'm an angel, sent by the   
Holy One. I'm, what you all like to call it, from Heaven."  
  
Both Dante and Trish become abruptly quiet. None of them say a word. They don't even look at each   
other. It's as if they didn't hear Socrates right and are waiting for him to talk to them again.   
Socrates doesn't. Silence invades the kitchen.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Socrates asks calmly, looking at the two in concern.  
  
More silence.  
  
"I'm an angel..." Socrates lets go of his necklace. "I'm from Heaven. What's wrong?"  
  
"You're right," Dante finally remarks, "I don't believe you."  
  
Socrates frowns, seeing Dante about to get up, most likely preparing to show him the boot.   
Socrates immediately clears his throat when Dante stands next to him and places a hand on his   
shoulder to help him out of his seat.  
  
"I'm telling you the truth!" Socrates says desperately. "You, yourself, belong to a group of   
creatures that no one believes in. Why is it so hard to accept that creatures of light is just as   
real as creatures of darkness?"  
  
Dante doesn't have an answer and momentarily stops. He glances at Trish, seeing if she believes   
this guy.  
  
"Why are you here?" Trish asks the young man, voice curious but still skeptical.  
  
"I was sent to prevent you from finding the Book of the Dead."  
  
This makes Dante grimace, soon shifting his attention back to the young man. So he's here   
because of the book too. It's sort of adding up now.  
  
"I know that someone has contacted you about it," Socrates continues. "Am I correct?"  
  
"Yeah..." Dante answers uneasily, "So what? Why don't you want us to find it?"  
  
"It's been hidden for decades, Dante, hidden to prevent the hands of evil from ever   
possessing it. If you unveil it, then you risk the lives of millions of people and creatures."  
  
"So you're saying that we have a chance at finding it?"  
  
"No. But I understand that the power of darkness seems to think so. They figure a child of both light   
and dark will be able to unmask its location." Socrates points at Dante's amulet, which Trish wears   
around her neck. "That amulet once belonged to your father, Dante, who then gave it to your mother   
to give to you and your brother. But that amulet holds special powers, more than meets the eye."  
  
"So we can find it with this?" Trish asks, touching the ruby jewel.  
  
Socrates becomes silent. He knows he's revealing too much. After all, he only came here to   
DISCOURAGE Dante and his companion from ever finding the Book of Dead. Now, now he's doing the   
COMPLETE opposite! He's giving them the answers they need. Man... the Holy One should've chosen   
another angel. He's just not cut out for this.  
  
"Well?" Dante looks at him, waiting for an answer.  
  
"Look," Socrates gets up. Maybe it IS a good idea to leave now. After all, he did what the Holy   
One ordered him to do, which was to tell the son of Sparda to back off. Whatever happens next, it   
isn't his fault! "I'm going now. Please, take my advice and don't look for it."  
  
Before Socrates gets within an inch from where he sits, Dante shoves him back down to his chair,   
glaring at him coldly. He kneels down to meet the timid angel at eye-level.  
  
"I want answers," Dante simply states, "And I want them now."  
  
"I'm sorry," Socrates shakes his head, nervous. "I can't. I... I really can't."  
  
"You can and you will, wing boy."  
  
Wing boy? Jeez, what did he do to deserve this! His first assignment here on Earth and he's   
screwing up big time. He can't allow this to happen. He has to get control of the situation again.   
If the others could do it then so can he. Right?  
  
"I'm sorry," Socrates tries to sound confident, even if his palms are sweating from nervousness,   
"I'm leaving now. I've done my part."  
  
"I don't care if we've got to talk to your 'employer'," explains Trish from behind, ganging up on   
the fresh meat. "We're going to get some answers. Now go on and tell us. Dante's mother's and   
brother's souls are at stake here!"  
  
Socrates frowns. "What?"  
  
"Didn't the 'Holy One' tell you?" Dante cocks an eyebrow. Surprised that Socrates looks puzzled.   
"My mother's and brother's souls are locked in hell, by Satan. This book is the only way I can   
free them. If I've got to run through Satan and his gang, so be it. But I need your help. I only   
want the damn book for this reason. I'll return it once I'm through so that lives won't be at   
stake here, wing boy."  
  
"But... once it's found there's no going back!" says Socrates, horrified. "This is too delicate   
a situation and Satan is COUNTING on you to come for it so that he can unleash its powers in two   
days from now!"  
  
"What?" Dante asks, "What happens in two days from now? And what's he planning to do with the book?"  
  
"In two days, an eclipse will occur. This eclipse is special because this was the very day the book   
was born, on Leap year during a bloody fight. When the eclipse occurs, the book's powers will be   
unleashed and Satan will have the power to undo all the works your father did!"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"That's right, Dante. The book has the power to reshape history! While the book can call on the   
dead and other stuff, its TRUE potentials can only be unleashed during its birth date. Satan   
wants to UNDO Sparda since he is the reason why the humans prevailed over evil!"  
  
"So Satan wants my old man off his Christmas list..." Dante turns around. Thinking.  
  
Shit... This scenario reminds him of that sci-fi movie he saw once with the killer robot and the   
blond babe... Houston, we definitely have a problem here, Dante wonders. On one hand, he can free   
his mother and brother's souls. On the other, he risks everything and everyone if he lets Satan   
grab the book. What's a devil hunter got to do to get some easy answers?  
  
"You told me that the amulet was the key in finding the book's whereabouts," speaks Dante again,   
addressing Socrates, "How?"  
  
Stubbornly, Socrates shakes his head. "No. I can't tell you, Dante."  
  
Dante takes a step forward toward the angel. Trish backs away from Socrates. She's seen Dante   
angry before, but nothing like this. She thinks of intervening, thinks of reminding Dante that   
he's dealing with an angel, but she doesn't. She frowns, however, when Dante's frustrated face   
slowly changes, as if something just struck him from behind. He's silent and his eyes soften a   
bit. Dante doesn't beat the answers out of the angel as she's seen him done to other jackasses.   
Instead, Dante reveals a human quality that's new to her as it's probably new to HIM.  
  
"Please, Socrates..." Dante whispers, in slight despair, "I don't have a clue if they're really   
there... but in my guts I do. I... I can't live knowing that Satan has them in hell. They need   
freedom and I need... peace. Please, wing boy... help me."  
  
Socrates holds his breathe. Man... this is all new to him. Had the Holy One told him about   
Dante's mother and brother being trapped in hell, he'd probably be prepared. Actually... no,   
he thinks honestly of himself. No. He wouldn't. He never was the type to ignore concerns anyway.   
In fact, the reason why the Holy One hardly assigned him tasks on Earth was because he was TOO   
soft. He always collapsed once a human came with a serious issue. The world could end and STILL   
he'd help the depressed person with his or hers problems. Ironic enough, this is what's happening.   
Dante is risking everyone's lives by finding the book. But... he knows that Dante, like all   
people, needs closure. He needs it. If Satan has already given him a time limit, then Dante can   
be rest assured that once that time is up, there will be NO way of freeing them. They'll be stuck   
there forever...  
  
"I'll help..." Socrates replies quietly, knowing that he'll get in a heap of trouble from the   
top guy after this, provided if there's even a tomorrow. "I just want one thing in return."  
  
"Yeah? Request ahead, wing boy."  
  
"Stop calling me 'wing boy,' please."  
  
Dante grins. 


	4. An Omen

Chapter 4: An Omen  
  
Trish checks the time in her wristwatch. It reads eleven-thirty in the late morning and still, there's   
no sign of Dante or the angel. She sighs heavily at the train station, tapping her foot and swinging   
her large bag carelessly by her side. Bored and tired, she accidentally lets go of the bag's handle.   
The bag hits the floor with a heavy thump. Trish curses, hoping that the bag's fragile contents haven't   
been broken. Immediately, Trish unzips the bag to check inside. A look of relief comes over her face   
when she realizes that everything is still in place, specifically an adorable and very large robotic   
toy that Dante gave her the day her arrival to DNC.   
  
Dante handcrafted the 'toy' the same way he handcrafted his Ebony & Ivory pistols. It's modeled after a   
favorite anime show he likes to watch when he ain't doing much in the afternoons. No matter how many   
times he tells her to take this "bad ass" character seriously, she still sees the robotic toy, named   
'Pluto' by the way, as "cute". In fact, they constantly have fights when the anime show comes on, ending   
with her telling him how much of a child he is.   
  
Slowly, she picks up Pluto, bending 'his' arms, legs, and demon-like wings to see if he's intact   
correctly. He's made out of stainless steel and is pretty heavy. Two hours ago, the cops had a field day   
when her bag kept ringing as she passed through the metal detectors near the train station's entrance.   
They didn't want her take Pluto onboard, seeing how heavy and potentially lethal he could be. (Like   
she's going to take out the train operator by throwing Pluto at him? Yeah. Right.) But a little   
"convincing" on her behalf made them change their mind. If only those guys knew that the number she gave   
them was actually a psychic hotline number. Ha!   
  
She tests Pluto again; making sure that nothing is broken. Good, she thinks, he's still intact and good   
to go. She zips the bag and stands up again. Waiting.  
  
Trish practically growls when another twenty minutes pass by. She's been standing here, looking out for   
their train, for nearly two hours already. Her feet hurt and her mascara seems to be running. Worse,   
she thinks she started her period. Man, it sucks being a woman. And the people here are just as twisted   
too. She tries to ignore the twenty-something man next to her, who's trying really hard to direct her   
attention to the large thing between his legs. But even as she looks away, her eyes find a couple of   
teenagers passionately making out on the wall next to her, using tongues and everything. Trish shakes   
her head, finally having enough of it. Forget Dante! Let HIM look out for the stupid train while she   
can go off on her own adventure until it arrives!  
  
Suddenly, she hears a familiar laugh.  
  
"Dante," she recognizes, her voice heated with anger. The bastard. She turns around to gripe at the source   
of the voice, only to gasp at the man next to her partner when she does.  
  
Socrates' bulky, nerdy suit is gone. In its place is a tightly fitted gray shirt and black leather   
pants. His wild red hair is jelled back and the black boots make him appear cool. The glasses are still   
in place but they don't compromise the new 'look' by much. Overall, he looks retro and kind of cute.   
Nice ass too.  
  
"I thought I'd show wing boy how to dress like a man," Dante explains to Trish, patting Socrates on the   
shoulder and grinning, " 'Sides, I didn't want him to scare away any of the babes we might find on the   
train."  
  
Socrates nervously smiles, adjusting his glasses.  
  
"I tried to get him contact lenses but wing boy didn't want to let go of those dorky glasses of his."   
Dante walks next to Trish.  
  
"Hey, they look cool," Socrates says and meets the two near the wall, nearly startled by the heated   
teenagers. He moves away from them. "And Dante, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me   
'wing boy'?"  
  
"When hell freezes over," jokes Dante.   
  
"It might just happen. But, honestly, Dante, why do you keep calling me 'wing boy'?"  
  
"Don't angels have wings?"  
  
Socrates just looks at him.  
  
"So, where are we going again?" Dante asks.  
  
"To Arizona," Socrates plays with his necklace as he converses. "There's a certain location there that   
we need to go to. The mountains, actually."  
  
"Why do we need to go there?" inquires Trish, swinging the bag to her side again.  
  
"Because that's where the gateway to the Underworld is."  
  
"I thought the only portal was on Mallet Island and that place's been destroyed."  
  
"Yes. But there are several gateways in other locations that will grant you access to hell. And like this   
train station, each will take you to a different place. The portal we're taking is going to take us   
directly to David's lair."  
  
"David?" Trish cocks an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes..." Socrates hesitates, "That's his real name. David."   
  
"What happened to 'Satan'? I thought that was his name?"  
  
"No. That's just a made-up name humans created for him, right next to 'Hades'."  
  
"David..." she tests out the name, hearing its sound.   
  
Funny, how a terrible creature like Satan actually has a name like David. Jeez, if they can't even figure   
out 'his' real name, then how are they going to figure out what 'he' really is capable of doing? Let   
alone, WHAT 'he' is?  
  
"Ha," laughs Dante, "Who'd have figured? David. And I thought I had a terrible name."  
  
"Is he really the King of Hell?" Trish wonders.  
  
"It depends," Socrates answers calmly.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, it depends on which God you believe in. You see... there are several realms throughout this universe   
and beyond. Each of them contains dark and light for balance. Other religions have their own realm.   
Meaning, they have their own devil and God. But they call them a different name than the ones we use here.   
They also have their ideas of the end of the world. Depending on whom they believe in, their souls will be   
taken to THEIR God or THEIR Devil."  
  
"But what if someone doesn't even believe in a God?"  
  
"Two things. The 'good' souls, if I may, enter a realm similar to Heaven but with no God. Or... the bad   
souls are recycled into the chain of life. Meaning, their souls will drift on forever, dying and reliving   
into different forms until they can make things right."   
  
Trish nods, understanding it a bit.  
  
"Going to Heaven or hell isn't about what you do during this lifetime, you know," Socrates continues. "It's   
about how well you treat yourself and others. Suicide is the greatest sin to commit, right next to murder.   
But since the hands of humankind have manipulated many works from these Gods and Devils for self-gain,   
several people misinterpret and even rewrite the laws. They kill innocent lives, claiming that it was for   
so-and-so God. Religious men, even of high standards, justify their actions against women as an act of God   
too, seeing that man will always be superior. Crucifying people who haven't converted to THEIR God is also   
a common and unfortunate thing. It seems that one group always thinks that THEIR God is better than any of   
the others. Overall, these are just misinterpretations and because of that, many people are being mislead."  
  
"And what about dogs?" Trish asks, "Cats? Animals? Do they have souls? A Heaven? A Hell? Can they be mislead   
too?"  
  
"Of course they have souls, Trish. And while they're unable to call their Gods names, they feel it in their   
hearts. In fact, some of the resurrected souls come in as cats or dogs, so they already know whom God and   
the Devil are. And, yes, they can be mislead too, as funny as that may sound to you."  
  
"All right," Dante breaks in, "I think I've had enough with this 'soul' business. Fact is, my folks are stuck   
in hell and I'm gonna get them out. So what can we expect from David? I don't suppose they'll be a tour and   
almost bare naked Hawaii-like girls waiting for us where we're going, right?"  
  
"I think the most important question, Dante, is how are we going to open the portal there?" Trish asks very   
seriously.  
  
"We won't," Socrates says. "The Book of the Dead is the only way in opening it."  
  
"Wait a minute," Dante starts, "I thought we were going for the book. If we need the book to open the portal   
and we don't even HAVE it, then what's the point of this trip?"  
  
"We ARE going for the book, Dante, but we first must find its location. And its location is found by solving   
a riddle."  
  
"Excuse me? I think you lost me, wing boy."  
  
"The riddle is," Socrates begins, oblivious to the confused face Dante and Trish make, "'In order to find   
the Book in the now, one must first look for the Book in the yesterday.' "   
  
Socrates smiles, pleased at how knowledgeable he is. It's certainly nice being the guy with all the answers,   
he thinks boldly of himself. He frowns, though, when he notices the two strange glances from his companions   
who keep quiet. He sighs, seeing they have no desire in answering it.  
  
"The past!" Socrates answers disappointedly. "Jeez, you guys need to read a book and work out on your brains   
as much as you do with your bodies."  
  
"And you need to give it to us straight, wing boy. What ARE you talking about? And what's with this riddle   
you give us all of a sudden?"  
  
"The riddle is the key to finding its location," explains Socrates, "Fortunately, I've already answered it   
for you two. In order to find the book's location, we have to go through the past and see where it's gone   
up to the point when the angel hid it."  
  
"Okay..." remains a still confused Dante, "So we're going to Arizona to go through the past? That right?"  
  
"Yes. NOW you're hearing me," Socrates smiles. Pleased. "We're going back through time to see where the angel   
hid it. That's why the book is so hard to find. Everyone's so busy looking for it in the present and they   
come up short. The ONLY way to find its location is through the past, Dante."  
  
"Oh..." Dante looks at Trish with a weird expression. "I guess I should be grateful that you helped us out   
on that one..."  
  
"Yeah. No problem. We're all friends here." Socrates smiles. He's too proud of himself to not notice the   
expression Dante makes.  
  
"But there's one thing you left out..." Dante continues softly, calmly.  
  
"I did? What?"  
  
"It's really nothing... I mean, we probably don't even need to know. But it'd be nice..."   
  
"Sure, go on. Tell me. I'll be happy to answer any of your questions, Dante."  
  
"Good... because I'd like to know... HOW YOU PLAN TO WARP US BACK THROUGH TIME, WING BOY!" Dante suddenly   
rages. "Jesus, how stupid do you think we are! No one can just ZAP back through time, y' know! This ain't   
the movies and I ain't Marty Mc-fucking-Fly from that 'Back to the Future' flick!"  
  
"Oh..." Socrates says. Understanding now. "Uh... sorry... I guess I got carried away."  
  
"You guessed?" Trish remarks sarcastically, her eyes rising behind her dark shades.  
  
"Well, um," starts Socrates, "Remember I said that the amulet held special powers?"  
  
"Yeah," answers Dante. "What about it?"  
  
"That amulet is the main key in activating a ripple through a vortex, or 'time' as many put it. You see...   
that amulet can't really help us find the book directly. But we can use its powers to give us CLUES to the   
book's whereabouts. With that amulet, we can activate a portal and 'zap' ourselves, as you say, into the   
medieval times where the book was born."  
  
"Medieval times...?" Dante asks slowly, realizing something. He looks away.  
  
Sweet mother of mercy... This is during the time when his father... His heart rapidly races inside his chest   
with anticipation. His father... Trish suddenly glances at him. Their eyes meet... She knows exactly what   
he's thinking right now.  
  
"Did you bring your Bangle of Time gadget, Dante?" Socrates breaks in.  
  
"Um... Yeah," Dante tries to keep his cool.   
  
The white-haired hunter reaches deep into his trench coat's jacket, removing a silver watch-like gadget.   
Yeah, he thinks to himself, Mallet Island was just full of treasures. Not only did he find out-of-this-world-  
weapons, but he also found this cool little thing called the Bangle of Time too. Of course, he had to take   
out a demonic dragon to get to it and a couple of Ice-like creatures, but it was so worth it. It holds the   
power to LITERALLY freeze time. Apparently, the Holy One must've been looking into his visit in Mallet Island   
since Socrates already knew he had this gadget. In fact, he told him before leaving DNC to take it with him.   
At least now, he can see what this baby can REALLY do. Dante hands the device to Socrates.  
  
"So? What are you going to do with it?" he asks.  
  
"Give us a three-hour head start," Socrates replies and receives the device.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"We've got less than three days to find the book, Dante, and the angel holding it could be anyone at any   
place. Which means, it might take us awhile to find the book. If we don't get it before the eclipse, then   
your mother and brother's souls will be lost to David forever. Believe me, I've seen this happen before.   
You really DON'T want to play around with this guy. At least with three hours, we can find the book and   
have time to open the portal to hell and free your family's souls and then hide the book again before David   
even knows it was found. That's what I'm hoping for, anyway. Boy, am I going to get it from the top guy..."  
  
"You mean to tell me that you can't simply find the angel who's hiding the book?" Trish inserts in curiosity.  
  
"No. This angel is far more superior to any other, so powerful that it can mask its own appearance. This   
angel could be a rat, for all we know! No, he, or she, was the perfect person for the Holy One to choose   
to hide the book and this angel wasn't going to risk being spotted by ANYONE, including by fellow angels."  
  
"Huh? Angels can betray their own kind?" inquires Dante.  
  
"Unfortunately, yes. And that's why they call them, 'fallen angels.' Once an angel disobeys the Holy One or   
commits betrayal, there isn't a chance for the angel to return to Heaven until he or she does something   
EXTRAORDINARY. In fact, David, himself, is a fallen angel until he took the throne of the Underworld to   
give balance to the universe. It's his sole responsibility to represent darkness and condemn souls in our   
realm."  
  
"You make it sound that it's all right for him to condemn innocent people because of this 'balance'," Dante   
says very uneasily, already hating Socrates' concept of the universe.  
  
"No, Dante. Condemning souls for the sake of gaining the upper hand is downright wrong," Socrates quickly   
replies. "It goes against everything sacred to creatures of light and darkness. I just want you to REALIZE   
that David is an entirely different ballgame from Mundus. If you face David and possibly defeat him, be   
prepared to know that SOMEONE will replace him. No matter WHAT you do, evil will ALWAYS exist because there   
will always be light."  
  
"So how many fallen angels have managed to go back to Heaven?" Trish quickly jumps in, seeing how Dante is   
about to throw a fit, not liking what he hears.  
  
"If memory serves correct, there hasn't been a fallen angel that has been able to gain reentry to Heaven."   
Socrates smiles but it's a sad one.  
  
"Figures," Dante ignores, "Listen, I've got to take a leak. I'll be back real soon."  
  
"You'd better hurry," Trish warns, "The train's scheduled to arrive at any minute now."  
  
"I'll be back," Dante says and walks towards the nearest men's room he sees.  
  
Trish and Socrates stand all alone. Both of them try to ignore the heated teenagers and the horny man giving   
Trish nasty looks. It's a jungle here...  
  
  
  
  
  
Dante enters the men's restroom. The restroom isn't as clean as he'd like it to be. In fact, there's graffiti   
everywhere and the floors are corrupted with toilet paper. There are three mirrors lined up against a wall,   
each accompanied by three sinks that are in serious need of some cleaning. The dryer is busted and some of   
the restroom stalls are crumbling with decay and moistness. The stench of human waste fills the air while the   
lights on the ceiling buzzes on and off again. A quick glance and Dante can see some brown mushy stuff at the   
left corner of the restroom, having no desire to want to know what it is. It's seriously gross here. But he's   
seen worse. This is kid's stuff compared to the restrooms he's been in before. The bars' restrooms he's been   
to can make a madman sane, that's for sure.  
  
The janitor, the only man here, mops the floor from behind him. He looks old, pushing eighty years old easily   
and smoking a cigarette, causing the small ashes to fall on the dirty, dark floor. The smell of nicotine fills   
the air. Dante tries to breathe that in instead of the human waste stench coming from the toilets nearby. The   
white hunter takes off his gloves and places them near a sink. Soon afterwards, he stands in front of the   
nearest stalls. The one that has the words 'Hubbard loves L. Ron' all over it. Whatever. He unzips his zipper   
to resolve his bodily urges.  
  
"Tough day, sonny?" grunts the old janitor from behind, scratching his cheek.  
  
"Probably will be in a few hours," responds Dante, peeing.  
  
"Business or pleasure?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Your trip," explains the janitor.  
  
"Business."  
  
The janitor nods, mopping the floor up and down. Dante wraps it up and goes to a brown colored sink to wash   
his hands. He can catch a view of the old man through the reflection. The water pours down from the faucet,   
splashing onto his hands.  
  
"Got a girlfriend, sonny?" the janitor asks.  
  
"No," Dante answers and begins soaping his hands.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because girlfriends are a hassle," chuckles Dante, "My work comes first anyway. Women would only get in the   
way of things."  
  
"Ever been in love?"  
  
"Yeah. Several times. But nothing serious."  
  
The janitor laughs. "Yeah. We're all like that, aren't we, sonny? Men, I mean. So are you interested in anyone   
right now?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I've got a nice girl who might be interested in you."  
  
"That's nice to know," Dante rinses his hands, replying with a dull voice.  
  
"She'll really like you once she meets you, no doubt, sonny."  
  
"Yeah. Whatever." Dante glances up at the mirror so that the man can see his face, wanting to show the man   
that he doesn't want to talk anymore. However, he frowns.  
  
Dante blinks. (He could've sworn the old man was smiling at him mischievously, revealing sharp black teeth.)   
No... It's probably just his imagination. Creepy. In any account, Dante turns to see the old man clearly.   
The old man just smiles at him, warmly, as if nothing happened. Dante returns to rinsing his hands. He turns   
off the faucet and dries his hands with the paper towels, still able to see the man through the reflection of   
the mirror.  
  
"What do you do for a living?" the old man asks, resumes mopping the floor.  
  
"I'm a private investigator."  
  
"Yeah? So you're a detective or something?"  
  
"Yeah. You can say that."  
  
"So you're out to do some 'investigating'?"  
  
Dante nods, momentarily checking on the mirror to see the man. Again, he frowns. (He could've SWORN that the   
old man's eyes were red.) He turns around to the see the man once more. As before, the old man warmly smiles   
at him. Oblivious. Dante returns to the mirror. Nothing...  
  
"What inspires you to do that kind of work?" the old man continues.   
  
Through the reflection, the old man waits patiently for an answer. Dante doesn't say anything, instead looking   
at the reflection. Frozen in place. A minute or two goes by and still no word from Dante.  
  
"Well, I hope you have a great day," the old man replies after awhile, a bit distraught.  
  
Dante continues to look at the man's reflection. Still nothing. (But he could've sworn...) No... He chews on   
his lower lip. No. He saw nothing. (But...) No. He didn't. Figures. It must've been something in his eye or   
that horrible sandwich he ate from the vendor machine an hour ago. Or maybe he's still suffering from this   
morning's hangover. Yeah. That's got to be it. What else could it be? Everything seems normal enough. There's   
nothing out of place. It must've been inside his head. Yeah.  
  
"I'm heading out," Dante mutters and starts to leave. However, one quick glance from the mirror seriously   
worries him.  
  
This time, the old man... he's soaked in blood!  
  
"Hey!" Dante turns around immediately to look at the man again.  
  
"What?" the old man asks very puzzled when he sees Dante glaring at him weird, "Something wrong, sonny? You   
sick?"  
  
"But... You..." Dante points at him, then gives a brief glance at the mirror. Nothing. "But... how...?"  
  
"Are you all right?" the old man asks, very concerned. "You don't look so good."  
  
"No..." Dante replies, uncertain. He looks at the mirror. The man isn't soaked in blood anymore. There's   
nothing wrong. "No, it's nothing..."  
  
Dante slumps against a wall, rubbing his eyes very hard with the palms of his hands. Sweet mother of mercy...   
what is WRONG with him? He's seeing things!  
  
"Are you sure?" the old man asks worriedly. "Do you want me to call the docs?"  
  
"Um... no..." Dante answers quietly. "I... think I should get going."  
  
"Yeah, you don't want to miss your train, sonny." The old man grins, "Besides, you'll be meeting my girl   
real soon."  
  
Dante just nods, a bit exhausted and a bit frustrated, not really hearing what the man says.  
  
"Do good," the old man says, "And be careful. Unexpected things happen, even when it IS expected to, sonny."  
  
"Sure..." Dante says bitterly and leaves the room.   
  
Outside the restroom, Dante covers his face with his hands. Man... what's going through his head? He's seeing   
things that don't exist. He must be insane! Is it from the pressure? After all, he's going to take on the   
biggest assignment he's ever taken before. Maybe it's all getting to him. (His mother. Vergil. Father...) Is   
that why he's acting up like this? Shit, he just doesn't know anymore. Dante lowers his hands to his side.   
Suddenly, he remembers that he left his gloves back inside the restroom. Sighing, Dante opens the door and   
spots his gloves on the sink. Strange enough, the old man isn't here.  
  
"Hey," Dante calls out, "Anyone here?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Hello?" Dante looks around, opening each of the closed stalls. Empty.  
  
Jeez, where'd the old man go? There isn't a window here, or another exit. How did the old man leave then? He   
was right where the door was. Surely, he'd have seen the old man leave. Yet... Something catches Dante's eye,   
interrupting that last thought. He sees the bucket with the mop the old man was using. Something about it   
wants to draw him near it. Slowly, Dante approaches it, walking steadily toward the bucket. He hears   
something coming from it, a buzzing sound. The devil hunter swallows hard, wishing he had his guns with him   
right now. (It feels wrong.) Damn regulations...  
  
The buzzing gets louder than before as Dante approaches the bucket. Louder. And louder. And louder... His   
eyes widen in horror once he reaches a point where he can look down at the bucket. From that moment on,   
everything running inside his mind abruptly stops. It's unable to register the surreal image. It's unable to   
do anything except look. He's seen some pretty awful stuff in his line of business but this takes the cake.  
  
Instead of water inside the bucket, millions of bloody maggots and flies scurry about. They begin to pour   
out, almost reaching the tips of Dante's boots. Dante takes a step back, seeing a large hill of maggots and   
flies begin to build again, causing them to spill outwards. Before he can even ask how these insects got   
here, his mind gathers another irregularity. There's something underneath the insects, something hidden...   
  
Dante peers closer, trying to get a good look at it. Whatever it is, the insects momentarily cover it. Dante   
stares motionlessly over the bucket, watching the maggots and flies move away to see what's hidden deep inside.   
He thinks of brushing them off with his bare hands but the thought of it makes him disgusted. Sure, he's   
squashed oversized roaches and killer hornet-like creatures before, but something deep down his gut restraints   
him from touching THESE insects. They look weird and possess an appearance that could bring nightmares to just   
about anyone. (There's something evil going on here.)  
  
Dante continues looking at the insects. Many of the ones dropping from the bucket scurry up the walls, to   
the toilets, and to the sinks of the men's restroom. The devil hunter has to keep from gasping since there   
are SO MANY maggots and flies coming from the bucket that they are consuming the entire restroom! The hunter   
remains silent and calm, though, hoping that an unsuspecting man needing to take a leak doesn't come in here   
right now.  
  
The buzzing gets louder and Dante peers into the bucket again. Whatever is inside the bucket, it's slowly   
being revealed. The insects are now moving away from it. He swallows hard, seeing piece by piece of it being   
revealed to him, like some puzzle.  
  
Five maggots crawl out. Dante can now see, what looks like, a human eye. It's tightly closed. (See no evil.)   
Three flies fly upwards. Dante can see another human eye. It, too, is closed. Two maggots start to descend   
deep into the bucket, entering a hole of some sort. Dante has to keep from grimacing in disgust since he   
realizes that what the maggots are entering appears to be a human mouth. (Speak no evil.) By the looks of it,   
it's a woman's mouth. Shortly afterwards, Dante can see five maggots crawl out of an ear. (Hear no evil.)   
  
A... A head? Dante realizes. A woman's head... Slowly, the entire face unravels itself. When a white colored   
and well-decayed neck is revealed, Dante can see that an extremely sharp object severed it. (Like someone   
chopped the head off.) Once the entire picture is shown to Dante, he turns pale. All blood that runs through   
his veins stop.  
  
"Holy... shit..." Dante stutters, finally seeing the woman's entire face. "Trish!"  
  
Trish! Jesus, it's Trish's head! No! Trish! Immediately, Dante turns around, facing the mirrors' direction.   
Thousands upon thousands of insect creatures flood the ground he stands on. He tries to lift his feet to run   
but their powerful numbers prevent him. He tries again. It's like his legs are made out of clay!   
  
The insects keep his feet planted to the ground, trapping him. Some of them bite deep into his boot, reaching   
the core and nibbling off his flesh. He grunts, trying to brushing them off with his hands. Several of them   
leap and fly to his hands, quickly consuming the rest of his body. Dante moans, feeling sharp teeth stab into   
him. More insects invade his body, their massive weight causing him to lose his balance. He tries to keep from   
falling into the pit of insects below but eventually he does.   
  
Falling, the insects run over his face, squeezing and sucking blood from their victim. Dante curses but soon   
closes his mouth once he realizes that several maggots are trying to enter his mouth. He sways his head left   
to right, trying to prevent them from entering his ears and nostrils. Facing the mirrors, their reflections   
blink to life, instantly catching his bewildered gaze. The insects momentarily stop attacking him, instead   
holding him down to the floor.  
  
At first, there's complete darkness channeling from all three mirrors. Nothing in the restroom reflects on   
the mirrors, just blackness. Slowly, the darkness clears and each mirror starts to portray different images   
on their screens. The images begin to move inside the mirrors, as if playing a movie. The first mirror shows   
the first scene, the second mirror shows the scenes after that, and the third shows the finale.   
  
Dante's mouth tries to open but several maggots enter inside. Dante gurgles wet sounds, feeling the slimy   
creatures crawl from his tongue and into the moist canal of his throat. The sensation is painful. He can   
literally FEEL tiny teeth devouring the insides of his throat, nibbling piece by piece of his vulnerable   
flesh, soon moving down. Another heat of agony erupts and he grunts. His mind tries to make sense of this   
phenomenal but it can't. Mater Christi, why is this happening to him? It feels so real! Is this really   
happening? Is it a premonition? Is it a dream? He just doesn't know or understand!  
  
Meanwhile, the first mirror reveals a "movie clip" to the devil hunter. Through it, Dante can see Trish   
yelling, her voice mute. Her eyes are wild, mouth gagging. She lies on the ground, which seems alive.   
Moving. Hungry. Her clothes are torn, grimed with both sweat and blood. She has a nasty slash across her   
arm that's bleeding uncontrollably. Trish screams again, trying to flee but large tentacles coming from   
the ground wrap around her wrists and ankles, keeping her in place.   
  
Through the second mirror, someone approaches Trish but Dante can't see the figure. All he sees is a dark   
figure moving toward her, holding something. The figure advances slowly. Trish's face turns pale. Her eyes   
look worried. She tells the figure something but he can't hear what she says. No sounds come from the mirrors,   
only images. Gagging from the maggots descending further down his throat, Dante notices how Trish seems to   
recognize the figure. She isn't screaming anymore but instead, talking. Her eyes become worried once more   
when the figure continues walking towards her, oblivious to her cries.  
  
On the final mirror, Dante realizes that the figure is carrying a sword, large and made of black metal. It   
looks a little like Sparda but also like Alastor too. The dark figure rises it above his head. Right as   
Trish covers her face, Dante sees the figure strike and chop off her entire head.   
  
"NO!" screams Dante and immediately stands up from the ground.   
  
Surprising enough, all the insects are gone. The walls, the floor, and the sink... they're all gone now.   
They've vanished as mysteriously as they appeared. Dante checks the bucket and mop. There's only water in the   
bucket and the mirrors now reflect parts of the restroom instead of a dark abyss. About the only sound coming   
inside the restroom is the sound of dripping water from the water faucet. Dante immediately storms out of the   
men's restroom.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Jeez, Dante, what were you doing in there? Were you constipated?" jokes Trish once she spots Dante a few   
meters away.  
  
A puff of air shoots up from the now-arrived train, making her voice hard to hear over its sound. Several   
people rush in to take their seats. Trish patiently stands near the train, still holding her bag. Warmly,   
she smiles at her partner. She was beginning to get worried for a second. She thought that the sandwich he   
ate from the vendor machine caused him some serious stomach problems. She warned him not to eat it. The fool.  
  
"Your timing couldn't be any worse, could it?" she continues light-heartedly. "The train's here and Socrates   
is already onboard."  
  
Dante takes a step forward, stopping soon to stare at his partner. Trish breaks away from talking, seeing   
how strange Dante is looking at her. It isn't the typical 'hey, doll, miss me?' look she's so used to seeing.   
This is different, terribly different. It's like he just came from hell.  
  
"Dante... are you okay?" the woman asks very concerned.  
  
The white-haired man doesn't say anything. He just stands there like a statue. Eyes stone. Face hard. Hands   
clenched. His jaws dance a bit, as if he wants to talk. However, nothing comes out and his mouth remains shut.   
He doesn't seem to make an effort to do anything else but just stand there. Still. Quiet. Unease. Even when a   
person accidentally bumps into him he stays still.   
  
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Dante moves. He abruptly walks pass Trish and starts to board the   
train without saying a word. Trish frowns. Funny, he left in a happy mood. Now, he looks... Trish stops,   
observing Dante enter the train more carefully. She senses something off. But... what she senses is fear.   
No. That can't be right. She's probably off by a mile. Or maybe Dante's possible fear stems from his visit to   
the restroom. Yeah. Lord knows, there's nothing worse than needing to go and finding no toilet paper around...   
And the smell! Don't get her started on THAT! Trish shakes her head, soon entering the train after her partner,   
giving him a break.  
  
Inside, Trish sees that Dante has already located their seats. She eyes Socrates who's already seated, gazing   
in amazement through his window. He looks more like a six-year old ready for his first carnival ride than an   
angel on a mission.  
  
"You can sit with Socrates," Trish tells Dante who's now putting one of his bags inside the cabinets above   
their seats. "I'll sacrifice myself and take my chances on the guy sitting next to me. Hopefully, he's a   
sleeper."  
  
Trish grins at her joke, but notices how Dante immediately stops putting his luggage inside the cabinet. He   
glares at her so cold that he could break stone itself with that stare of his!  
  
"Don't you fucking talk like that," Dante orders roughly.  
  
Trish is immediately taken aback by Dante's harshness. At first, she thinks that Dante is playing along,   
pretending to be a hard-ass. But the face he has... it's drop dead serious. Obviously, he didn't like her   
joke but why does he have to be so angry? What did she do to get on his bad side? Sure, she still needs to   
work on that poor sense of humor of hers but...  
  
Dante resumes putting in his belongings and then snaps the cabinet's doors to secure it.  
  
"You're sitting with Socrates." Dante's statement sounds more like an order.   
  
Before Trish can say anything, Dante takes a seat at the opposite role across Socrates'. He rests his head   
against his window, putting on his earphones to listen to his portable CD player. He shuts his eyes. Trish   
scoffs, not knowing what to say. Okay... now he's being a jerk. What's the deal? Dante can be an asshole to   
people, but he's never been like that with her. Now, he's treating her like she's one of his worse demons.  
  
"Everyone," the train's announcer says. "Please take a seat now. We will begin moving very shortly."  
  
Sighing, Trish sits herself next to Socrates. She glances at Dante to her left. Whatever is going on in his   
head, he'd better snap out of it. She doesn't need his bullshit right now, especially since this entire trip   
feels so... wrong. Again, that uneasiness has crept over her like a cold winter night, tingling her skin with   
some unseen revelation. Even finding the book about David and the book was bizarre. She half expected to find   
nothing at the library and decided to leave after rigorous searching. Strange enough, however, a black book   
caught her eye. Was it by chance that she found this particular book? Coincidence? Or is there something else   
going on, some hidden layer she and Dante have yet to discover?  
  
Trish abruptly feels the train beginning to move, hearing its whistle out loud. She sags down against her   
seat's cushiness, trying to relax.  
  
  
  
  
The hours pass and the train continues forward. Socrates watches the outside scenery change from empty plains,   
to wonderfully green forests, to the rural area of cities. It's all so magnificent. Once in awhile, they'd   
stop to pick up new passengers, thus, bringing them to new locations and new people. And each time they did,   
it'd bring new adventures. At least for him. He talked to both old and young people, even when Trish would   
repeatedly tell him to keep a low profile. He'd eat the meals served during the trip. He'd smell the air of   
the train and grin foolishly. When the train would begin to move forward, he'd immediately press himself   
against the window like a leech, eagerly ready to see the new stuff for the trip ahead. His heart would skip   
a beat as the train traveled from one place into the next. He'd lose himself to the gorgeous wonders of the   
sun, staring at it regardless of its blinding light.   
  
The angel awes at it all. Sure, he's been on the other side, but it's not as beautiful as this. No wonder   
many angels and anyone alike want to convert back to human form, he thinks. He never understood why many of   
them wanted to become human again until now. The food... the clothes... the air... everything adds new   
sensations. Socrates sighs in satisfaction, playing with his pearl necklace. Next to him, Trish wakes up.   
  
"Hey," she mutters, heavy from recent sleep. "Did I miss much?"  
  
"Nope," Socrates answers softly, gazing out his window.  
  
"What time is it?" she yawns and stretches out her arms.  
  
"About two o'clock. We're almost there."  
  
Trish nods and then glares at Dante to her left. He, too, is awake, reading a magazine featuring a woman on   
top of a sports car. She can hear his heavy rock blurting out from his earphones.  
  
"I'm surprised he isn't deaf already," chuckles Socrates, twirling his fingers around his necklace, looking   
at the tall trees surrounding them.  
  
Trish doesn't say anything. Instead, she wonders if her partner has come back to her or if he's still the   
jerk that entered the train with her a couple hours ago.   
  
"He's such an asshole," Trish tells Socrates, saying it out loud in purpose to see whether or not Dante is   
listening to her.  
  
"I hope you're talking about the guy serving the crappy food, doll," Dante replies easily, even with his music   
on full blast.  
  
He looks up at his magazine and grins. Trish slowly smiles back, noticing that the grin comes from her Dante.   
Dante puts his feet on top of the empty seat next to him and snuggles in very nicely. He seems better now,   
Trish thinks. Whatever happened, he must have gotten over it during the trip. He probably slept it off or   
something. Relieved by that notion, Trish turns her attention back to Socrates. Her eyes fall to the enchanting   
chain around the angel's neck.  
  
"That's really pretty," she points, "Where did you buy it from?"  
  
Socrates stops playing with his necklace. "Um... I didn't buy it."  
  
"What do you mean? Someone gave it to you?" Dante laughs as he shuts off his CD player and lowers his   
earphones around his neck, thinking that Socrates might have a lover back home. "She must think you're really   
special to have given you that."  
  
Trish laughs, agreeing.  
  
"She?" Socrates asks puzzled. He laughs when he finally understands. "Oh! No, no, no. No, I don't have a   
girlfriend, if that's what you're thinking. No. In fact, this was given to me by the Holy One."   
  
"The Holy One...?"  
  
"Yes," answers Socrates gently, almost sad, "The Holy One gives each of his angels these necklaces. They're   
called, the Pearl of Heaven. They're actually his tears in the form of pearls though."  
  
"How beautiful..." Trish comments.  
  
"Yeah. But the Pearl of Heaven is more than something to be admired. It actually grants angels wishes."  
  
"What?" Dante asks.  
  
Socrates nods. "You see, each angel is given one wish during their entire existence, mainly to settle   
personal matters. Some of them use it to make themselves human again. Others use it to see their still   
living loved ones."  
  
"And how long have you kept yours?" Trish inquires.  
  
"Since I became an angel."  
  
"And how long has that been?"  
  
"For about five thousand years."  
  
"Whoa! That's a long time, wing boy," laughs Dante, "Why haven't you used it? Don't you have family you'd   
like to see? Or things you'd like to do as a human?"  
  
"Well..." Socrates glances down, slightly sad. "I've... I've never had anyone. My mom and dad left me. Even   
though I saw them when I died, I still considered them strangers. And as for being human... as much as I   
like the stuff here... I'm a bit afraid that I'll be living a life similar to the ugly one I lived last   
time."  
  
Trish and Dante look at Socrates. They never knew that angels had the same problems humans did. They always   
figured them as people dressed in white, playing harps and all that other stuff. But it seems that certain   
expectations always fall short these days.  
  
"So, is Heaven better?" Dante asks very softly. "You feel accepted?"  
  
"Honestly?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Socrates slowly shakes his head. "No... The Holy One was about the only one who loved me. But all the other   
angels... Let's just say that I felt left out of everything there too. In fact, I only took on simple   
assignments like this. No one thought I was ready to be a guarding angel or savior. I usually stayed in   
Heaven and waited around while others took on assignments that were really big."  
  
Socrates stares up at Dante.  
  
"I... I guess I kind of wanted you to force me to help. I guess... I don't only want to do this to help   
your mother and brother, but to prove to everyone and to myself that I can do it." Socrates looks away from   
his companions, disgusted at himself. "I'm sorry. I'm being selfish."  
  
"No... You're being human," Dante replies quietly, "Devil... angel... crossbreed... it doesn't matter where   
we stand, wing boy. We all have something human in us. Whether it's passionate love or pure hatred it's all   
the same"  
  
Dante greets the man with a warm smile. Socrates slowly smiles too. Trish can't believe it. She won't ever   
get Dante. One moment he can be an asshole and then... a decent and compassionate human being. No... it wasn't   
his powers that lured her to his cause. It was his humanity. He's pure inside, prevailing odds because of his   
ability to show emotion. If only that was enough for her. There's just so much about this man that's a mystery   
to her. She can only wish that Dante can let her in his world, to trust her.  
  
"Dante," she begins very softly, "Are you all right?"  
  
"Huh?" Date stares at her. Confused.  
  
"I mean... before we left for the train, you weren't yourself. You were such an asshole."  
  
Dante chuckles at her choice of description. Though, he doesn't blame her for saying that. He really WAS an   
asshole back at the train station. But can anyone blame him? Who wouldn't be pissed off, seeing someone special   
getting his or her head chopped off? If anyone thinks they can take Trish down then they're entirely mistaken.   
They're going to have to go through HIM. Fuck the consequences or how strong and important David is. If that   
was Mr. Satan's way of scaring him, then he'd better do better than that. It'll take more than insects and   
magic mirrors to stop him. Besides, it might've just been an illusion. A prank. It might've been something   
to ward him away.   
  
But... why did it feel so real?  
  
"Sorry about that, doll," he finally replies. There's a hint of uneasiness in his voice. "I... met a guy at   
the restroom and I got a little ticked off. I didn't mean to get you angry."  
  
"You're not holding out on me again. Are you?"  
  
"No... of course not." Dante tries to smile, tries to make it look sincere.  
  
Once again, Trish gets the feeling that he's not telling her the whole deal. He's holding back. Why can't he   
let her in? Why does everything he keeps secret have to be sealed off?  
  
The train jerks hard, breaking those last thoughts. At first, she thinks it was just her that felt it.   
However, several passengers frown as well, even the woman serving the drinks. The train jerks again. This   
time, it's harder, as if something penetrated the transporter.  
  
"What the...?" Trish begins and sits up.  
  
"We must've hit something," Dante says and puts his feet down from the empty seat. He notices how stiff   
Socrates suddenly is. "Wing boy, you okay?"  
  
Socrates' face is stone.  
  
"Socrates?"  
  
Socrates remains silent.  
  
Dante is about to ask him what's wrong until he hears something echoing into the train. At first, he can't   
explain what it is, but the sound gets nearer. Small. And then louder. It's... it's a woman's voice, he   
figures out. Sweet. Beautiful. Exotic. Someone's singing beyond their cabin.  
  
The voice sounds both sad and cheerful. Melancholic. Single melody notes play in and out through the train.   
Playfully. The rest of the passengers look at each other very confused.  
  
"There once was a love that was strong to hold," a beautiful voice sings, echoing from somewhere, "Her lover   
was handsome, sweet, and bold. Then, alas, a storm had come with the ring of a bell. It stole him away and   
damned her to HELL!"  
  
The voice gets nearer. Fierce, though... There's a sense of anger and frustration mixed into one. Both   
Dante and Trish grimace, receiving a bad vibe from this.  
  
"Trish," Dante says very low from across her, "You got your bag of goodies close by?"  
  
Trish's foot pushes forth a bag underneath her seat. She opens it, carefully taking out Pluto. Socrates   
cocks an eyebrow at her. Jeez, this is a terrible time to be playing with toys. What's the deal? He soon   
sees, however, Trish breaking apart the robot and then assembling it once more. Instead of assembling it   
as a robotic warrior toy again, though, Socrates sees her rearrange the pieces into different form.   
  
Disassembled pieces slide into new slots, clicking together smoothly. Joints lock together and metal scrapes   
against metal. Screws tighten and things bond to become one.  
  
Trish snaps more parts together with ease, all the while making sure no one is watching her. Socrates views   
amusingly at the new shape Pluto transforms into. It's a gun, a custom-made magnum gun to be exact. Nice   
cover... he notes to himself.  
  
"She screamed and withered in deep terrifying pain!" the enchanting and hypnotizing voice continues, "But   
her king promised her love again and gave her a cane!"  
  
Trish finishes assembling her magnum. Seeing how Dante is a faster and better shooter than her, she decides   
to let him do the honors. Trish pushes the safety device off and hands the weapon to Dante without attracting   
the attention from nearby passengers who are all looking at each other in surprise. Dante receives the gun,   
checking the silver bullets inside the casing of the gun. He nods in satisfaction. Granted, Trish's Pluto   
isn't Ebony & Ivory, but it can kick some serious ass all the same. 'Make my day,' y' know.  
  
"And now," the mysterious woman sings, still invisible, "a new champion has arrived this wonderful day. Ha!   
Her love will be renewed and the bitch shall play!"  
  
With that last note, the passengers scream in terror the moment they see the walls begin to ripple, moving   
like water. The wonderful scenery outside turns abruptly pitch black. The white clouds turn gray and then   
completely dark, moving fast across the sky. Electricity and wind surges, striking and roaring loudly. All   
of a sudden, the lights inside the train turn off. Everything inside the train turns into complete darkness.   
The only light coming in is from the thunder of an unexpected and sudden storm. The passengers immediately   
panic and try to scramble to the next cabin, fleeing away from this menace.   
  
Dante, Trish, and Socrates stand up to get a better view of what's going on, all three getting pushed   
abusively by passengers trying to escape this horror.  
  
"Socrates?" Dante snaps, "What's going on?"  
  
Before the angel can say anything, the train jerks again and all of them feel it going at full speed ahead,   
the outside scenery flashes by the roles of windows very fast. Everyone screams as they feel the pressure   
course through their bodies. The sound of a wicked laughter emerges within the dark cabin.  
  
"Come, friends," the voice appears again, "Let us play!"  
  
Dante sees the back part of the cabin ripple even more. Suddenly, the ripples begin to build into awkward   
shapes, taking the form of a woman!  
  
The woman's body slowly becomes solid, touchable. Her face forms, revealing pale-like white features,   
seductively red lips, and shockingly green eyes. Her extremely long golden red hair flows around her   
fairly thin neck, towards her nearly exposed bosom. Her revealing black dress contains slits, allowing her   
long and slender legs to be shown to her admirers. She is beautiful, utterly beautiful.  
  
Dante raises Pluto at her, seeing the evil in her eyes. The mysterious woman laughs softly and starts to   
hum her beautiful song, hugging herself with both her arms. She later stretches them out to Dante, wanting   
to embrace him. Her humming continues and in doing so, Dante slowly lowers his weapon, feeling drawn to both   
her music and appearance. A stirring within his body longs for her, longs to be with her. He... he can't   
control it!  
  
"Don't listen to her!" Socrates yells by Dante's side, "It's a spell!"  
  
The humming continues. Dante takes a step forward... wanting to express his total devotion to the red haired   
woman.  
  
"Yes, my new love..." the woman soothes to Dante, urging him forward, her hair and dress flowing as she   
levitates above ground. "Come to me..."  
  
Dante smiles. He drops Pluto as he continues to walk to her. Trish looks at this in dismay and screams for   
him to stop but he doesn't listen to her.  
  
"Trish!" Socrates worries, "We have to stop Dante! He's been hypnotized!"  
  
Trish doesn't need for him to tell her that. She looks around, trying to find SOMETHING to help her partner   
get away from the woman. She eyes Pluto not that far away from her and dives for it. Trish aims it at her,   
making sure her shot doesn't hit Dante. Right when Dante is about to fall into the woman's arms, Trish fires.  
  
The blast from her magnum booms out loud. Clean. Fast. However, the moment the bullet gets within only an   
inch of the woman, it mysteriously vanishes. The witch laughs.  
  
"Ha!" she says delightfully, "No human weapon can hurt me!"  
  
Trish lowers Pluto to her side. Horrified. Mater Christi! What matter of power does this woman possess?   
Frustrated, Trish fires again, hoping that it was just blind luck that the woman went unharmed. The second   
bullet vanishes too. So does the third. Shit!   
  
Trish's hopeless efforts seem to amuse the woman, making her laugh in full delight. She flies higher,   
spinning around and dancing in the air. No matter how much Trish tries, she fails. Yet, regardless of her   
shots being unsuccessful, the large noise of Pluto is just enough to kick Dante out of his trance. The   
mysterious woman is too distracted in taking pleasure on Trish's failed attempts to even notice. Dante's   
eyes narrow coldly. Angry.  
  
"Then I guess we'll have to do this the hard way!" he yells and squarely punches the woman across the face.  
  
The force of his fist sends the woman spinning to the ground. She lies there for a moment, holding the area   
Dante inflicted pain with her hand. The woman looks up at Dante, her green eyes glaring through the pitch   
darkness inside the train.  
  
"I'm a woman!" she says, "How could you!"  
  
"You're all the same," Dante grins as Socrates and Trish stand by his side, "that's how."  
  
The witch screams in anger... Hatred fills her pools of green. Her cheeks are blushed with frustration. She   
looks like she's about to slash at them with her own hands. Strange enough, though, the anger subsides and   
she settles for a warm smile.   
  
The enchanting woman slowly stands up, holding a seductive stance that nearly distracts Dante from the task   
at hand. Even as he tries to beat her, there's a part of him that wants her so badly, so much that he wants   
to taste her. And somehow, regardless of him hitting her across the face, he feels like she likes his abuse,   
which only strengthens his desires for her. (Strengthens? How? Where do these feelings come from?) No! He has   
to fight this... He has to...   
  
The red-haired woman looks at Dante with complete admiration.   
  
"Ah, I love it when men play hard to get," she murmurs softly, purring her words to him. "Yes, my new love,   
I'll play along and once you're ready I'll welcome you with open arms. But first... a test! Let's see if you're   
even worth my time."  
  
The woman flies above ground again.  
  
"One, two, hear my cry!" the witch announces out loud, "Three, four, time to DIE!"  
  
The remaining passengers still inside the cabin abruptly yell. It isn't from horror, though. It's from a deep   
and agonizing pain, stricken with boiling heat over their bodies. Their skins begin to rip apart and their   
faces start to... melt...  
  
"What's going on?" Trish wonders, looking at the people moan like zombies.  
  
"She's controlling them with her powers!" Socrates answers as each of the people in the train start to   
transform.  
  
Dante's eyes widen in disbelief, seeing innocent bystanders squirt and choke on their own blood and puss,   
spraying the floor with it. Their hands suddenly stretch and turn sharp, fingers like knives. Their skin   
complexion turns from gray to a sick green color. Cracks form over their bodies, breaking them apart like   
toys. Everything even remotely human is gone. They no longer have faces or bodies, just transparent forms   
like ghosts. The red-haired woman mutters something in a completely foreign language, raising her hands above   
her head and laughing softly. Suddenly, masks and overlarge scissors appear before the demonic creatures.   
Each of the contaminated people takes the items. They wear the masks and hold the scissors with both hands.   
Once they do, they observe the three remaining humans inside the train, each of them having a lust to snap   
their pretty heads with their oversized scissors.  
  
"Have fun, my darling..." the woman tells Dante before vanishing out of thin air.  
  
"Shit!" spits Dante, realizing that the only weapon they have with them right now is the one Trish is holding.   
"We're outnumbered and all our weapons are in the storage area of the train! Damn it!"  
  
"Then, what are we waiting for?" Trish replies hastily as she reloads Pluto. "Let's move!"  
  
As fast as they can, Dante, Trish, and Socrates run to the other side of the cabin. The creatures wielding the   
ten-feet-long scissors take flight, chasing after them as they make a run for the door. One of them throws her   
sharp weapon at Socrates. He ducks down, barely missing it by a centimeter.  
  
"C'mon!" urges Dante as he helps Socrates up from the floor. "MOVE!"  
  
Socrates immediately follows Dante and Trish into the next cabin, trying to keep his balance as the train soars   
onward very fast. It jerks and he nearly collapses. He quickly regains his composure and runs, attempting to   
see through the pitch darkness of the train.  
  
In the next cabin, they all freeze, seeing a pack of scissor creatures waiting for them here too. The creatures   
glare at them coldly, their masks glistening under the thunder's lightening. They all wickedly laugh.  
  
"Fuck it!" Dante has had it.   
  
He runs through the pack, pushing them away as hard as he can to create an opening for Trish and Socrates.   
The space is too narrow, causing Dante to take several stabs from the scissor creatures. One punctures through   
his rib cage. He grunts but quickly takes out the lethal weapon from his body, his healing factor kicking in   
the moment the foreign object is removed. Growling, Dante takes the scissors and smashes the mask of a nearby   
demon. The creature screams, suddenly vanishing.  
  
"Go!" Trish orders Socrates, seeing a slight opening Dante has created.  
  
The two quickly run through, ducking as the creatures try to snap off their heads. They see the door leading   
to the next cabin containing their luggage. If they can just reach it then they can kick some serious ass   
here.  
  
"Hold them off for a couple of minutes!" tells Trish to Dante as she runs for it, "I'll come back with   
Alastor!"  
  
"No... problem... babe," the white-haired man grunts as he holds off two scissor ladies, both trying to stab   
their weapons into his chest.  
  
Socrates is the first to reach the door to the next cabin. Trish follows behind. The two freeze when they   
realize that another turned-human is here with them. There's only one of them but this time, the mask creature   
holds an extremely long and terrifying scythe weapon. The creature laughs as it swings the weapon at them like   
a bat. Socrates and Trish move out of the way. The demon goes after Trish, swinging its scythe at her. Trish   
runs up a wall and leaps from the ceiling to dodge the creature's attacks. She lands hard on the floor and   
fires a shot from Pluto. The bullet is deflected by the creature's scythe weapon. She curses out loud.  
  
"Go! Get Alastor and Sparda!" commands Trish to Socrates. "I'll deal with this!"  
  
Socrates nervously nods, quickly scavenging through the piles of luggage to search for theirs. He mutters   
many things, concerned since there are SO MANY bags here!  
  
"C'mon, bitch..." Trish inserts coldly to the creature, slowly removing her shades and throwing them on   
the ground. "Show me what you got!"  
  
The demon screams. Trish sees it readying its weapon. It flings it to her like a boomerang. Trish moves   
left to escape the spinning scythe. She rolls to right once it comes back to return to its owner. The demon   
screams again, angry that its attack failed to kill the woman.  
  
Meanwhile, a cabin away, two demons push Dante across the seats of the train. Before even hitting the ground,   
Dante leaps from one of the seats, to the side of the train. He lands to get in between two scissor creatures.  
  
"Is that all you have to offer?" Dante taunts, "Jeez, I had hope for something a little more challenging.   
C'mon! Give it to me! I like it hard!"  
  
The two demons laugh as both of them lungs their weapons at him. Dante grins mischievously, seeing the   
creatures falling into his plan. He back flips to a seat in an instant. Going too fast to stop, the two demons   
clash head on, breaking their masks with each other's scissors and therefore, meeting each other in mutual   
death.  
  
Before Dante can celebrate his small victory, he feels a whirl of movement emerge from below. He glances down   
and sees one of the scissor creatures there, going through the ground like a ghost. It later emerges on the   
left side of the train, soon circling around Dante's right. Another demon gangs up on Dante and also starts   
to circle the devil hunter into a trap. They disappear behind the walls of the train. Dante tries to get a fix   
on their location but five other scissor creatures are approaching him from both left and right directions.   
Jesus, this place is too cramped and he's still vulnerable. What's taking Trish so damn long?  
  
Socrates yells in frustration as he throws one bag to the side after another. Hurrying. He hears Trish grunt   
as she fights off the beast behind him, shooting round after round with her magnum. The blast of it hurting   
his ears. Beads of sweat build on top of his forehead as he continues searching, trying to do this fast to   
save his friends. But all these bags! They look the same!  
  
"Socrates!" he hears Trish from behind, "Have you found them yet!"  
  
Socrates simply shakes his head, noticing how tired Trish is becoming. If he doesn't hurry then he won't have   
to worry about finding the bags... C'mon, Socrates... you can do it! He tries to motivate.  
  
The demon Trish is fighting manages to cut a part of her arm. She quickly ignores the pain, realizing that   
concentrating on it accomplishes nothing. Besides, her healing factor should kick in. But her body... it's   
getting tired.   
  
She could've invoked her demon powers a long time ago but they take too much time to charge up and the amount   
of energy it took from her always left her drained and vulnerable. She was grateful that Dante helped her tone   
up her fighting skills. It made her rely less on her powers. Still, she curses herself for not working on her   
demon powers too. In fact, both Dante and her share a kind of uncomfortable feeling about these powers. None   
of them want to use them since they are more comfortable with the notion of being human than devil. Using their   
unwanted gifts just reminded them that they came from the underworld. In a way, both of them are guilty for being   
in denial.  
  
The demon strikes again. While the sharp blade from the scythe doesn't connect, a part of the staff does.   
It flings her up into the air and smashes her aggressively to the ceiling. Trish lets out a puff of air when   
she falls. Jesus... she's getting so tired... She can't concentrate!  
  
"I found them!" screams Socrates in delight.  
  
As if hearing him too the creature turns its attention to the angel. Socrates sees it raising its scythe at   
him, preparing to slice off half of his body. In an instant, Socrates pushes the extremely long and hard case   
containing Sparda and Alastor across the floor to Trish. Fast, Trish unlocks the lock bolts of the case and   
removes Sparda. Right as the demon throws the scythe down at the angel, Trish leaps up and smashes the mask   
of the creature midair. The demon creature screams and vanishes. Socrates remains frozen in place, seeing how   
dangerously close that was...  
  
Back at the other cabin, Dante ducks once he sees two scissors moving over him. They miss him but a demon   
from behind catches him by surprise and guts him straight into his stomach. Before Dante can even get the   
blades out of him, the demon lifts him up, forcing the blade to penetrate deeper as he sinks downwards. He   
grunts in pain but opens his eyes just enough to see the two creatures circling around him earlier close in   
on his position. The remaining creatures fly forward too. Dante curses, realizing that they're all going to   
attack him simultaneously. One of them hovers from above, opening its scissors wide apart. It targets its   
scissors at his neck...  
  
"Dante!" he suddenly hears. Trish!  
  
From behind, Socrates holds Alastor while Trish is equipped with Sparda and a sawed off shotgun. She fires   
both her shotgun and magnum simultaneously at the pack of scissor creatures, hitting them round after round   
as she walks calmly forward, a regular killing machine she is. One of creatures flies above her. Trish smiles   
in content as she pushes the demon back with a blast from her shotgun, soon finishing it with a bullet from   
Pluto.   
  
The bullets keep coming, momentarily causing the demons to pause. Trish points and fires at the scissor   
creature holding Dante, making sure none of the shots hit Dante. The creature gutting Dante freezes when a   
part of the shotgun's shell sprays on it. From behind Trish, Socrates sees this as an excellent opportunity   
to throw Dante his sword.  
  
"Here!" Socrates yells, "Catch!"  
  
Dante grabs the handle of Alastor, feeling its overwhelming power feed him.   
  
Alastor's electricity runs down the length of his arm, moving all over his body wave after wave. The dark   
train brightens with immense light as Alastor bonds with Dante, invoking the menacing devil within him. The   
blood of long dead and ancient demons paved over Alastor's metal calls for him, longs for him to become one   
with them. Gasping and convulsing, Dante feels his blood begin to boil, realizing that his body is preparing   
to enter Devil Trigger mode. Funny, he had no desire to transform into a devil but it's happening nonetheless,   
like a reflex. He continues shuddering involuntarily, head moving up, down, left, and right at inhuman speed,   
causing his vision to become nothing but a blur. He feels his hot blood move up to the back of his neck until   
it reaches his head and builds. More electricity emerges from the sword.   
  
For a brief moment, Dante can see the line of people Alastor has killed, even stemming from way back during   
the medieval times. Images of faces and places pop in and out of his head as fast as they come, with Alastor   
continuously revealing its secrets to him. In one image, he can almost swear that he sees his father. Smiling.  
  
Dante's can feel his flesh and clothes ripping and tearing. He moans out loud, hurting from the pain as 'new'   
flesh replaces his old. It's abnormally dark and extremely hard where it could break off the tip of a knife.   
His back aches too, sensing two tiny spikes erecting themselves outwards from his spinal cord. The more the   
two extend, the more he moans in agony. They stop stretching out once they reach one meter in length. Even   
then, the torture doesn't halt. Instead, the two thin spikes become thick. A black, fleshy glob spills out   
from the spikes. The glob turns solid, taking the shapes of fans.   
  
The worse part of transforming was always this part, Dante knows. The birth of his demon wings was always a   
difficult procedure. Yet, he also knows that they're the last to be developed in his Devil Trigger mode. And   
he also knows that his Devil Trigger is near complete. Slowly, Dante loses conscience, ultimately allowing   
the Devil within to possess his body.  
  
Where it might seem to take over an hour to shift into Devil form, it's actually one second. Dante's   
transformation happens extremely fast to onlookers that the scissor creature nearest has no time to retreat.   
  
Seeking revenge on the scissor creature that inflicted pain during its human form, IT slashes Alastor across   
the scissor creature's face with lightening strength, breaking off the mask with just one hit. Both the scissor   
creature and its weapon disappear.   
  
IT watches in delight. Happy. Eager. After its recent kill, IT slowly looks up at the remaining demons and   
humans here. IT notices the woman, hearing her devil blood flowing through her human veins. IT sees her   
looking at IT in a strange manner. IT notices the woman soon shifting her attention to the demons still   
occupying the cabin. IT can see them too. Good, IT thinks. More kills. More victory. More fun...   
  
Pleased to see potential trophies, IT screams a high pitch and scary sound from its throat. IT raises its   
wings apart and holds Alastor up high. Without notice, IT starts its slaughter, laughing mechanically once   
IT hears the screams from its victims.   
  
Trish gets out of its way, seeking cover along with Socrates. From behind a role of seats, Trish silently   
observes IT storm through the pack of scissor demons with ease and delight. In a way, Dante's Devil form   
scares her. IT takes pleasure in killing. IT only sleeps when its task is done or when there is no more   
'sport' to play with anymore.   
  
She remembers how out of control the Devil was when Dante Devil triggered a little after the Mallet Island   
incident. Dante wanted to try it out since he had only discovered his hidden potentials during his visit to   
the Island. After that experiment, however, he seriously limited his use of the power. She understands why.   
IT took out a horde of these scissor creatures, including ones that ranked high in the demon list. Demonic   
lizard men, something Dante likes to call 'Blades,' were its favorite prey. IT favored them the most since   
they put up more of a fight than the scissor demons or any other did. Shit, IT tore through them like tissue   
paper, laughing and bathing itself with their blood! Dante's Devil form didn't know when to stop. Dante was   
only able to regain control when IT got bored!   
  
Invoking the Devil was as much a problem as it was controlling IT. IT wanted to be invoked all the time,   
especially when Dante got into the 'spirit' of things, like taunting his enemies and successfully making   
kills. IT wanted to join in on the fun, like an eager dog ready to chase the Frisbee. IT also liked it when   
Dante got injured. In a way, Trish knows why. Basically, seeing Dante hurt was a reminder of how frail a   
human was. IT liked to show Dante that only the Devil within was the stronger of the two. Not human.   
  
That concept scares her. It really does.   
  
Strange, how she's always wanted to Devil Trigger like Dante despite how uncomfortable she is in using her   
powers. She's always wanted to gain that unlimited power. But, Dante, himself, has trouble controlling his   
gift. Keeping that in mind, does she REALLY want to? Does she want to have a truly dark side to her? She   
spent her first part of life in the hands of an evil person. Mundus constantly bathed her with horribly   
images in an effort to convert her to a true killing machine. Does she want to go back to that life? Does   
she really?  
  
Before she can further ponder into that thought, she feels a breeze of movement from behind. Trish sets aside   
her shotgun for Sparda to deflect an attack from the demon she faces. Aggressively, Trish slices downward   
with her sword to cut a piece of the demon's mask. While the creature tries to recuperate, Trish points Pluto   
at the crack she's created and fires continuously until it widens. Once it does, she slices upwards with   
Sparda. The mask leaps up into the air and breaks in one fast motion. Trish smiles.  
  
Nearby, Socrates views the two hunters work their wonders. Scared but excited. He's never been in the   
middle of a battle before. He's usually at arm's length away from anything. But, man, is this incredible!   
No wonder why many folks down here on Earth consider Dante and Trish to be the best of the best. Maybe they   
WILL come out of this okay. Maybe they won't have to worry about David after all.   
  
Socrates abruptly frowns. He hears the melody of the red haired woman singing in the background of the battle.   
It isn't near like last time. It's a bit far away.  
  
"Siren..." he whispers softly.  
  
As Trish and IT continue to battle the demonic creatures, Socrates presses his face against a window, trying   
to find the source of the humming. Outside, he notices more lightening striking across the dark sky, booming   
out loud. It strikes hard to the point that the train, itself, trembles under its weight. Socrates hears the   
melody coming up above the sky, steadily growing louder. It echoes, the beautiful voice looming everywhere.   
The angel squints his eyes through the window, trying to see over the drops of rain now coming down. His eyes   
widen. In the midst of the thunder, he sees a woman flying, her dress and hair moving with the wind. Before   
he can call to his companions, a large bolt of electricity from the sky hits the rear side of the train.  
  
Outside the train, the small explosion creates a fire. The fire starts to consume the rear part of the train,   
moving upwards very fast like a vertical whirlpool. But the fire, itself, seems alive and driven. Within the   
fury whirlpool, the shape of an oversized lion roars out loud. Its eyes shoot red, mouth open with lava   
spitting from its throat. Once the lion is settled in with its surroundings and objective, it runs up on top   
of the train. Fast. Everything it touches is boiled and incinerated.  
  
"Uh, guys..." Socrates mutters, hearing the lion coming closer, realizing how the situation has changed. "I   
think we've got a serious problem that needs looking into..."  
  
"Not now!" Trish replies, oblivious. She fires at two incoming demons that try to corner her. She spits and   
shoots crazily at them.  
  
"But... Look!" Socrates points forward, toward the cabin's backdoor. The small backdoor's window shows a wall   
of fire coming for them.  
  
Trish checks out the direction Socrates points to. She realizes all the fire building up outside and rapidly   
catching to their cabin. There's so much fire that they'll be roasted like a Sunday barbecue if they stick   
around here much longer!  
  
"Fuck me!" she screams, "Dante! We need to get out of here!"  
  
The Devil doesn't hear her. Instead, IT approaches one of four scissor creatures circling around. Soon, IT   
rams the creature up with Alastor, causing the demon to remain up in air for a second. Immediately, IT points   
its fist straight for the mask. A bolt of electricity shoots from its fist. The single blast immediately   
penetrates the creature's mask. The demon withers away, screaming as it does. Insanely, IT laughs again and   
again and again.  
  
"Dante!" screams Trish again, "We've got to go!"  
  
The Devil continues its rampage, not stopping for anything or anyone. IT grabs another scissor creature and   
smashes the mask with its bare fist. IT is getting out of control.  
  
Frustrated and cursing, Trish runs next to IT. She grabs IT by its arm to gain its full attention, fully aware   
of how dangerous this is.  
  
"Dante! Stop!" she pleads, seeing how dead its eyes are.  
  
Indifferent, IT throws her across the train and screams out loud. Pissed. IT advances towards her, angry that   
she's disturbed its hunger for the kill. The woman may have demon blood but that doesn't give her the right to   
stop its hunger! IT needs to show her a lesson so that she won't do that again. Ever!   
  
But before IT can get any closer, the Devil begins to moan. Immediately, IT drops to its knees, holding its   
head with its dangerously sharp hands. Alastor slowly falls from its possession, clanging out loud next to IT.   
Alastor's electricity begins to fade away. The black skin of IT rips, wings fluttering up and down very fast   
like a bumblebee. Trish slowly stands up, seeing that IT is in pain, seeing what's going on.  
  
"That's right," she whispers gently, trying hard to ignore the fire coming. "That's right, Dante. Gain back   
control..."  
  
Dante screams once his demon wings fold back into his back. His arms... legs... hands... everywhere, it all   
hurts as his body tries to restore back to its previous form. Small drops of blood appears from under his nose.   
He wipes them away, sweating. Once he's gain his human form, Dante lies on the floor. Naked. Exhausted. He's   
unaware of the fire coming. The only thing he's concerned about now are the sensations he just went through.   
They're evil. Mother of mercy... he almost killed Trish!  
  
Before Dante can open his mouth to apologize, Trish grabs his arm to raise him to his feet. She forces him to   
run to the next cabin. Dante doesn't bother to ask why. He's too much in a daze to even think, let alone talk.  
  
Socrates picks up Alastor and runs closely behind to the next cabin, hearing the fire lion approaching closer   
from above. Its gigantic paws rip through the ceiling. Its red eyes glare down at the three beings below. The   
lion puffs out large amounts of breathe into the hole it's just created. Fire shoots down, consuming the entire   
insides of the cabin. The lion demon soon leaps up on top of the next cabin to catch up to the three.  
  
In the next cabin, Dante hears something thump above them. Trish gives Dante her shotgun while she checks to   
see if Pluto is fully loaded. Dante points the shotgun at the direction of the sound. A part of him wants to   
laugh. Here he is, preparing to do battle, wearing nothing but a shotgun in his hands.  
  
"It's already here!" Socrates states nervously.  
  
"What is?" Dante inquires, still not knowing what's going on.  
  
"Does it matter?" Trish snaps, "We need to find a way out of here!"  
  
Trish summons up her strength, trying to invoke her demon powers. Now is the time for her to unleash her own   
demonic powers. Yellow electricity showers over her arms and hands, her eyes flashing with the same color.   
She can feel the sting of ache reach her head, threatening to overload and explode. Trish tries her best to   
ignore the pain, knowing that this pain isn't as bad as the one she'll face if she stays here. No... she has   
to do this, for their lives!  
  
Once her power charges to the max, Trish pushes her hands forth. She unleashes her energy at the side of the   
train. The blast of her powers causes a huge hole, destroying anything in its path. Exhausted, Trish stumbles   
backwards. Dante catches her before she falls.  
  
"We need to jump," she tells her partner very weakly.  
  
The ceiling above the three rips apart and Dante finally understands the situation. The lion roars at him,   
spurts of flames almost touching Dante. He moves out of the way and fires one shot before lifting Trish into   
his arms.  
  
Hurriedly, Dante looks down at the hole Trish has just created, searching for a perfect place to jump. The   
scenery goes by fast with the harsh wind hitting against his face as the train speeds ahead. He glances to   
the side and realizes that they'll cross over a bridge with the ground well below fifty feet soon. Time to   
bail, he tells himself. With that, he leaps to the grassy hill he sees ahead, tumbling down and down and down.   
Finally stopping, Dante carefully puts Trish down on the grass and checks back to see if Socrates is following.   
He blinks raindrops from his eyes.  
  
"Wing boy!" shouts Dante, seeing the train moving faster and Socrates going along with it. "Jump! Hurry!"  
  
Still inside, Socrates can barely hear Dante's voice. All he can hear is the sound of thunder and fire, the   
fires of hell that is. Above him, the lion made of fire further tears into the hole, slowly descending down   
to meet the angel inside the cabin. Frozen in place, Socrates stares at the creature of darkness. He knows   
well that thousands of angels have perished into the clutches of demons like this. He knows that most become   
damned in the pits of hell where not even the Holy One can free them. He's seen many go to fight dark lords   
like Mundus only to never return. He has no desire in fighting this creature. But the train... it's moving   
too fast for him to jump! He's... he's so scared!  
  
The fire lion approaches closer...  
  
Outside on the grassy hills, Dante leaves Trish behind and tries to run after the lighting speed train. He   
feels already weak from his recent Devil Trigger state. And the thought of almost killing Trish is still on   
the back of his mind. But he summons the remains of his strength, chasing after the train regardless of   
feeling tired and the rain causing his vision to go hazy. He screams out Socrates' name one last time, seeing   
how the fire is spreading all over it. Jesus, the kid is going to die if he doesn't get out of there right   
this second!  
  
"Jump!" he yells.  
  
The train finally reaches the bridge and Dante stops running, breathless. Even with all his strength and   
speed the train is going too fast. His face turns pale when the train abruptly explodes, engulfed by flames   
and smoke. Shortly after, the bridge collapses underneath, sending the train below. Trish slowly walks by   
Dante's side. Rain continues to pour down from the sky. Both Dante and Trish slowly watch the flames reach   
the air, hearing only the sound of a wicked laughter from somewhere... 


	5. Gaze at the Mischief

Whoo-hoo! I finally got to actually sending this chapter up! Sorry for the delay folks!   
I just finished "Dante Must Die" mode and I've got to say that the slightly altered   
ending with Dante making an Austin-Powers-like "Yeah" impression ("Devil May Cry is a   
rockin', don't come a knockin'! Yeeeah!") made that torturous experience worthwhile.   
And the slightly different melody at the end of the game was cool too. Did I also mention   
the Super Dante character I unlocked? I even made about fifteen 'S' ranks in "Dante Must   
Die" Mode! Ha! I AM THE ULTIMATE BADASS, as Hudson from "Aliens" would say! And, hey,   
if anyone here needs some tips, go ahead and email me. Just put "Game Tips" on the   
headline so I'd know you're emailing me Devil May Cry related. ;-)  
  
ANYWAY, here's the next part. Usually I shut up and let you guys read it but I thought   
that I should remind you folks (newcomers especially) that there are a lot of "adult"   
situations here. (Hint: Sexual content) There's a reason why this fiction is rated R,   
kiddies. If adult stuff and language isn't your thing, then you know where the "back"   
button is. I hope.   
  
All right. I think this covers that. Once again, thanks so much folks for reading this   
story. It's a great honor considering that there are TONS of great stories to be found   
here in fanfiction.net. Having you folks take the time to read mines means a lot to me.   
So, without further ado, I'll shut up. ;-)  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 5: Gaze at the Mischief  
  
Drips of water emerge from the outer heavens, splashing heavily down to the green   
fields consumed with gorgeous green grass, tall and proud trees, and large rocky, mountains.   
The maniac wind twirls and spins around them, full with life and passion. Blood red roses   
found across the ponderous plains of land sways violently back and forth. Back and forth.   
The tips of their blushed petals drip lusciously, rainwater splashing and bathing them   
with utter delight. The clouds above grow darker, forming together to become a sea of   
gray. Lighting strikes from afar. For a moment, the sky brightens with an eerie red color.   
It fades away. There's another lighting strike. Again, the heavens are paved with bloody   
red. It's certainly a wondrous color, especially when a brief glimpse of yellow light comes   
from the hidden sun.  
  
Silently, a man with silver hair gazes up at the sky. His face is a mixture of content   
and pain. Dante sits naked on a grassy field with the rain pouring down on his back,   
drenching his hair. The devil hunter remains still, his knees under his chin, arms wrapped   
around his legs. The rain feels cold. Glooming. Bitter. It soaks his silvery white hair and   
face, dripping down to the rest of his exposed skin. The recent Devil Trigger burned off all   
of his clothes, leaving him as naked as a baby. He shudders a bit when the knives of raindrops   
touch his shoulders. Even as Trish stands over him and tries to shield him from the rain with   
her body, he still manages to get wet. But to him, none of it matters. None of it.  
  
Brushing back strands of wet hair from his face Dante sinks his head on his knees, not   
wanting to see the fire and smoke coming from afar. He softly curses under his breath, thinking   
over a thousand thoughts and mentally being at a thousand places at once. He knows it's wrong   
to think about the past. He knows that it's useless to stay there. But he's been doing that for   
the rest of his life, hasn't he? Cursed with the loss of his beloved mother and brother, he's   
been stuck in time, unwilling to move forward, unwilling to move backward too. Vengeance is   
all that feeds him, gives him life, and gives him purpose. Else, he'd be a drifter... a   
bastard child with no comfort to guide him. His vengeance may be bitter, but it is also sweet.   
  
There's a part of him that quietly reminds him of his task. It cautiously reminds him that if   
he sticks around here in the rain any longer he'll most likely catch pneumonia. He needs to   
find shelter for a while and some clothes. He needs weapons, the feel of metal under his gloved   
hands, a symbol of assurance. He needs to get to the mountains and somehow activate his amulet   
without the kid. He needs to save his mother and brother and destroy the bastard that has them.   
Fuck the consequences. Fuck what everyone thinks. Fuck everything. He'll take on the damn army   
of the undead if need be. Lord, have pity on the fuckers who are gonna get theirs.   
  
But why does he get the notion of all of this feeling wrong? Why does he feel... different?   
Out of place? Content? Shit, he should've been more careful and cautious before the attacks   
began.  
  
Dante feels something lightly hit his ankle. His eyes find a red rose there, bending   
slightly towards his ankle as the wind brushes up against its frail figure. Dante picks up the   
welted thorn rose from its resting place. A part of its petals have fallen off and it looks   
darker than the rest of the roses. Yet, possesses a light within it that makes it unique.   
Special. Dante raises it at eyelevel, eying it dully. It reminds him of Socrates. Socrates...   
  
He remembers the screaming, the sound of death coming from the innocent people that were in the   
train. He replays the entire events up to him sitting here. The screaming. The pain. The anger.   
The passion. Dante tries to pinpoint what went wrong, what could've been done to prevent it   
from happening. Sure, it's delusional of him to think that he has the power to change things.   
Sure, wondering than taking action accomplishes nothing. But since his mother and brother's   
death... he can't help but to feel guilty about everything and everyone. He can't help but to   
feel... that he could've done SOMETHING.  
  
Socrates' face haunts him again. As he slowly caresses the remaining petals of the rose he   
daydreams himself running to the angel, the fired lion approaching them. He sees himself grab   
the kid, jumping off the train with him. And after that, after seeing the train explode into a   
million pieces, he sees wing boy smiling. He sees him thanking him for saving his life.  
  
Or maybe he could've fought the lion. Maybe... he could've had Socrates take Trish and jump off   
the train while he battled the lion. Yeah. Socrates and Trish would be out of harm's way while   
he'd take out his almighty sword, Alastor, and fight the lion demon with all his strength. He'd   
plunge the tip of his steel into the lion, hearing its agonizing pain. He'd strike again, towards   
its head. He'd smile once the lion subsided its attacks, retreating. Blowing it a farewell kiss,   
he'd jump off the train before it'd explode.  
  
Damn... he should've let him jump out with Trish first. He should've fought!  
  
(Yeah, but what about IT? He couldn't have fought the masked demons without IT.) Dante blinks,   
suddenly remembering IT. He remembers how horrendous IT was, almost killing Trish when she   
intervened with its killing. Never before has he lay or even thought of laying a harsh hand   
against Trish. Yet, he almost allowed IT to kill her. He felt its undeniable power and hunger.   
He felt the blood of kills seep through its cruel veins, burning for more. Mater Christi, what   
if he hadn't intervened in time! What if he let that Devil kill Trish? He'd never forgive   
himself. He was able to stop IT this time around, but what if it happens again? What if he can't   
control IT? (What if he doesn't WANT to control? What if he wants to be IT? What if he...   
actually likes it...?) No! Rages Dante. No...   
  
Dante shakes his head, dropping the rose. Closing his eyes. Christ... where are these thoughts   
coming from? Why is he so inspired by them? Why does he hate but love them? No. He can't take   
this anymore. He... can't trust himself to Devil trigger again. He just can't risk it. There's   
so much at stake if he lets himself go. If it weren't for IT, he'd have enough strength to take   
out the lion and Socrates would be here right now! (But... IT has become so powerful... IT can't   
be stopped...) True. IT has become powerful. IT has become so powerful to the point that IT   
burnt off his clothes. That's never happened before.   
  
And the visions too... those impure and terrifying visions that usually follow after Devil   
triggering... they've gotten much worse. Dante swallows hard, trying hard not to recall the   
worse of the images he saw running through his head. But... they're engraved in him, attached   
to his mind like a parasite possessing him. Christ... those images...   
  
Trish was in them. His father. His mother. Vergil. Everyone he loved and cared for, they all   
were there. And he was there too. Laughing insanely as he watched them all combust into a burst   
of flames. Laughing. Laughing... The mysterious red haired woman was among them too. Nude.   
Opened. He took her. Possessed her body... As everyone around them burned into their own demises,   
there they were... in the middle of it all. They were naked, committing the most intimate,   
insensible, and inhumane act there ever was. He tasted her and she tasted him. He drank her blood   
and she drank his. Together, they became one. Together, they hated the world and humanity. And he   
loved it. He absolutely loved every minute of it. The Devil within craved for it, wanting more   
and more. The image faded then, ending with the seductress screeching in laughter as he accepted   
his part and she hers. (He'll never escape them... They're a part of him...)  
  
This is all the reason for him to stop while he's ahead. He can't depend on Devil triggering   
anymore. His feelings for the red haired woman are still surreal after all, despite her being the   
one responsible for Socrates' and everyone's death and him not knowing a real thing about her. He   
doesn't even know her name. Devil triggering will only make things worse since it blurs his mind   
with wild fantasies that frighten him to the bone. Every ounce of his common sense wants to kill   
this woman with his bare hands. He wants to slay the person responsible for everything that's   
happened so far. And yet, because of this unrecognized alien part of him that's invoked during his   
Devil trigger state, he wants more of this... pain. There's this horrifying side to him that wants   
her, wants to be with her, and wants to follow up the act in his terrifying visions. He can still   
smell her right now. He can still smell her rosy fragrance. Mercy, is he still under her spell?  
  
He should've killed her when he had the chance to, he tells himself frustratingly.  
  
In a way, he's glad that Alastor is lost to the train along with everything else. It means no more   
Devil triggering. He won't even THINK of taking Sparda from Trish as a replacement. For all he   
cares, he wished he never found and took those two swords from Mallet Island. He hopes Alastor can   
burn to the point where it's incinerated, just like everything else in his life.   
  
Dante looks down at the rose that fell from his hand, ignoring the smoke that's drifting above the   
sky now despite the heavy rain. His eyes grow soft again.  
  
"Dante..." he hears.  
  
Trish... She's been quiet for a long time, watching over him, letting him think. Trish knows well   
than to show him pity or sympathy over Socrates' death. After all, it's not like the angel and him   
were best friends or anything. And she also knows that he's used to this kind of thing happening,   
used to the stench of death. But, being the compassionate woman that she is, she can't help but to   
feel concern for him.  
  
"Dante..." Trish says again, her voice very quiet. "I'm sorry..."  
  
There it is. 'I'm sorry.' She's sorry. Bullshit! 'Sorry'? Sorry for what, honey? What the fuck did   
you do to make this shit happen? You weren't the one that transformed everyone into those demons.   
You weren't the one to cause that fire lion to appear out of nowhere. No, darling, you've nothing   
to feel sorry about. I do, though...  
  
"Dante? We've... we've got to get moving..." Trish slowly continues, uncertain of her own words.   
"That woman might still be out there. We're too weak to take her on."  
  
Dante doesn't say anything. Thunder strikes from a distant. He knows that the mysterious woman is   
long gone even though he doesn't really have the slightest clue on how. He practically has her   
scent all over his body. (Need to know if she's near? Need to know if she's just around the corner?   
Then check out the hardness she creates for him and that'll tell you if she's around.)   
  
He chews on his lower lip, trying to get that nasty thought out of his head. Yet, despite his   
great efforts, there they are. And as much as he'd like to get out of the rain and follow Trish's   
advice it's pretty embarrassing to stand up with her nearby and 'it' still running amuck. Trish just   
might get the impression that he's one of those sick freaks who get turned on after almost getting   
killed. Christ... WHY WON'T THESE FEELINGS GO AWAY!  
  
Suddenly, he hears a sound. It distracts his train of thought. Dante slowly raises his head from   
his knees, looking straight ahead toward the fire and smoke afar. His demonic hearing senses is   
picking up a noise that the human ear, alone, cannot possibly hear. A scent later follows... a   
familiar scent.  
  
"Dante...?" begins Trish, seeing how strange Dante looks.  
  
He gets up, being mindful of not letting Trish see his erection. But, as strange as it may be, it   
slowly subsides. The sound coming from the explosion resets his entire agenda, giving him new   
purpose. Nevertheless, he covers himself with both hands and slowly walks across the grassy field.   
Damn his demonic powers for robbing him of his clothes and dignity.  
  
The wind kicks up a notch and the rain pours heavily on him. The grass feels wet as his exposed   
fleshed feet set down on them. He feels some of their water drench between his toes but he ignores   
the sensations. Advancing forward, Dante makes his way toward the scent while Trish quickly follows   
from behind.  
  
"You're going to get pneumonia, Dante," Trish warns as she tries to catch up to him. "We need to get   
you some clothes and find shelter until the raining stops."  
  
Dante ignores her. He continues walking towards the fire and smoke. The rain starts to finally cool   
off both the fire from the train as well as the fire from his body. The heated passion he felt just   
seconds ago is gone now. Call it will or call it a distraction, but he's managed to subside his   
desires and thoughts to concentrate on the scent he's caught. It's becoming stronger... He quickens   
his pace.  
  
"Dante!" pleads Trish, "Stop! Please!"  
  
The scent becomes almost unbearable now as he nears the wreckage. Determination fills his face. He   
soon breaks into a run across the grassy field, desperately reaching for the edge of a cliff and   
bridge where the train stumbled down just moments ago.  
  
"Dante! Damn it!" Trish runs as fast as she can, seeing Dante running at full speed ahead. She   
calls out to him again. "He's dead! Socrates is dead! That scent you're picking up is probably from   
his corpse!"  
  
Again, Dante ignores her. Running. He's more determined to find his assumption true than Trish's. For   
crying out loud, what if the angel is alive? He's an angel, isn't he? Angels can't die, right? No...   
of course not, he convinces himself. He's... he's got to find out. He owes the kid that much. He   
failed wing boy once. He'll be damned if he fails him again.  
  
"Socrates!" Dante yells as he nears the cliff where the wreckage is. "Socrates!"  
  
Trish chases from behind. She instantly grabs Dante's arm before he can reach the edge of the cliff.   
"Christ, Dante, stop!"  
  
"He's alive... I can pick up his scent!"  
  
"So can I, but he's dead!"  
  
"How do you know, Trish? The only way we can find out is if we check it out for ourselves. Now get   
your hand off me."  
  
"Yeah," Trish remarks sarcastically and lets go of his arm. "Good idea, Dante. Lets go down to the   
wreckage to see if Socrates is still alive. And meanwhile, we can look forward to round two with the   
bitch we just went through. And who knows? Maybe that fire lion is still alive too, or those demons.   
Wouldn't it be great to see if we can take them ALL out? Yeah, let's stay here and get our heads   
blown to pieces!"  
  
Dante gives her a cold glare.  
  
"She isn't here," he tells her simply. "It's safe."  
  
"Really? How do YOU know she isn't here? Don't tell me you've obtained demonic psychic powers too,   
Dante."  
  
Dante hesitates. His voice becomes quiet. "Trust me... she isn't here."  
  
Trish looks at him for a very long time in silence. Wondering. Concerned. She wished she could   
trust him. She wished she could just let things be and move on. She wished she could never doubt   
him or his judgments. After all, Dante is a man of principle. Vengeance may fill his veins but he's   
able to block those emotions of his out. He's able to keep his cool and laugh at even the mightiest   
of foes. These past days, however, he's become a stranger to her. He's become nothing more than the   
shadow of the man she once stood beside so proudly. He's felt differently since the moment the bald   
man, a few days ago, stepped into their office offering a preposition. It all stems back to the   
demon woman he let go, doesn't it? He's hiding something from her. That she knows well. But WHAT he   
is hiding remains to be a mystery. Everything about him and this mission... she feels a connection.   
And that connection feels so wrong. No matter how close she edges to the truth it slips through her   
fingers. Why is that?  
  
The sound of rocks crumbing down makes her face stiff. She recovers Pluto from her holster belt.   
There's something underneath them, right under the edge of the cliff they stand on. Pointing at the   
direction, Trish takes a step back and waits for whatever it is to surface. She frowns, however,   
once she picks up the scent. No... it can't be...  
  
Dante immediately goes on his knees and glances down the cliff from the edge. He sees two hands   
clinging tightly onto a metallic object that's pierced into the wall of the cliff. They're human   
hands.  
  
"Socrates?" He tries to keep his voice calm. "That you?"  
  
A moment of silence followed by rocks crumbling down.  
  
"Um..." a timid voice finally echoes from below, "A little help here would be nice..."  
  
"Trish!" Dante orders. "Get to Socrates, he's down there!"  
  
The cliff is a long way down and bits of fire from the explosion earlier still loom about, almost   
reaching Socrates. He tries to remain calm, attempting not to look down. Funny, he's afraid of   
heights. How weird is that?   
  
Socrates swallows hard, trying to humor himself with jokes and not concentrate on the long way   
down. He holds tightly with both hands onto Alastor's handle. His feet dangle in the air, swaying   
with the wind, his leather jacket flapping annoyingly. He feels the rain and wind brush up against   
his body, threatening to compromise his hold. The angel squints his eyes as a drop of rain splashes   
directly at his left eye. A large gush of wind soon catches him and Socrates nearly loses one of   
his hand's grips. Quickly, he puts the hand over Alastor's handle again. He feels his sweaty hands   
beginning to slip. There's another hard swallow from Socrates. If someone doesn't come down here   
very soon he's not going to last much longer.  
  
Trish is already midway down the cliff. Expertly, she grabs onto one rock to get to another. Her   
high-heeled boots search for hard rocks to stand on and succeed. Strange, she's never done rock   
climbing before but she sure is a natural, she smiles. Her grin fades away soon. The rocks below   
are a bit smooth. Thus, they aren't stable enough for her to hold onto them. She extends out her   
left hand. Her half-inch long fingernails turn metal black and stretch out painlessly, easily   
reaching four inches longer. She stabs her steel-strong fingernails into the rocky wall and   
extends the other hand out to do the same with it. She resumes climbing down until she reaches   
the angel.  
  
"Socrates..." inserts Trish softly, "You're alive... I thought you were dead."  
  
"Well, technically, I am, Trish," Socrates warmly jokes.  
  
Trish grins. "Grab onto my back, wing boy. I'll climb the both of us back up."  
  
Skeptically, Socrates cocks an eye at her as she climbs a little down for him to climb on top of   
her back. He remains still.  
  
"Um... are you sure? I mean... I weigh a lot. We might fall."  
  
"Ha! Apparently, you don't know how strong us demon chicks can be, do you?" Trish bats her eyes   
and smiles innocently. "Now, c'mon, wing boy. I promise you that we won't fall. You've got to   
trust me."  
  
Socrates gazes down, already getting dizzy just glancing at the ground way below his being. He   
really isn't looking forward to staying here for the rest of his life. The fact that his strength   
is failing him and the rain and wind is increasing with velocity makes him realize how urgent the   
situation is. He can stay here and fall. Or he can trust Trish.  
  
He glances up at Trish. He's seen her fight and how strong she is. She might appear fragile to the   
outsider but she's got balls as hard as Dante. Though, that's not the reason why he hesitates.   
There's something else, something that he doesn't want to think about right now since it makes   
him... nervous. No. It's better not to think about that right now, Socrates reminds himself. You've   
got a mission. You've... you've got to follow it through.   
  
Socrates smiles, carefully climbing onto her back and being mindful of Sparda that's holstered   
there. Deep down, however, the small voice continues to rage. Trust her. Trust her. Trust her. She   
won't let you fall...  
  
On top of the cliff, Dante anxiously waits for the two to surface. He would've done the retrieving   
himself if need be but Trish finally sensed what he sensed. She sensed a man who was still breathing,   
still full with life. Hard to believe since, about a minute ago, he was thinking of Socrates as   
another victim from a demon assault. But Socrates isn't just 'another' person. He's an angel who has   
decided to help him free his mother and brother, even if it means severe consequences should they   
fail. Both of them have lots to lose if they don't succeed. And once things go sour, it's all   
downhill from there. At least he can see THIS as a slight victory. Socrates is alive. He's a   
survivor, just like Trish and him are.  
  
Dante grins the moment he sees a bare hand reach the edge of the cliff. Immediately, he grabs the   
hand and pulls to assist.  
  
Socrates pushes himself up from Trish's back, allowing Dante to help him. The moment he stands on   
ground, he turns a little red when he suddenly realizes something. It was something he didn't   
really pay attention the first time through during the train fight. Now, it's pretty funny.  
  
"Uh, Dante..." he says nervously, "Would you like to borrow my jacket? At least, for you to cover   
your, uh..."  
  
Without another word, Socrates takes off his jacket and hands it over to Dante who, blushed   
himself, wraps it around his waist.  
  
"It's laundry day," Trish jokes once she reaches ground. "So what now?"  
  
"Yeah," Dante looks at Socrates. "Where exactly are we going? And how far is it?"  
  
Socrates points straight ahead with Alastor. Both Trish and Dante glance at the direction, soon   
eying massively beautiful and white, mountains. It's a couple miles away from them and there's a vast   
green forest between the distant.  
  
"Hard to believe that it's the vortex of all evil, right?' Socrates injects. "Then again, we   
should've seen this coming."  
  
"Yeah..." answers Dante very quietly.   
  
"The mountains are a part of an Indian reservation so we might have to do some talking to get   
through. In fact, this entire area is a part of the Indian reservation."  
  
"Indian reservation?" Dante looks away from the mountains, back to Socrates.  
  
Socrates nods. "Yeah. Apache Indians, way before white settlers came, consumed this land. They came   
here to prevent the great evil the mountains possessed from ever escaping. Some of them even hunted   
and killed demon creatures that emerged from the core of the mountains. They've always known about   
the evil here."  
  
"And are they STILL aware of it?" Trish asks.  
  
"Some still are, but not many. Most of the believers are from the older generations, old chiefs. The   
recent generations, on the other hand, think that it's all baloney."  
  
Dante stares at the mountains again. An unsettlingly feeling invades over him. He soon looks around   
the grassy field and then the forest.  
  
"It's so quiet," he says. "Too damn quiet..."  
  
Trish nods. "Yeah... I'm even picking up some demonic scents not that far away."  
  
"In that case..." Socrates throws Dante his sword.  
  
Dante takes Alastor, a bit uncomfortable with it after the train fiasco. A part of him curses at the   
fact that Alastor remains. It didn't incinerate as he first hoped. It's here...with him. In a way,   
it reminds him of the monkey's paw tale. With the monkey's paw, one would be granted wishes. Money.   
Power. Anything. They were given the world with it. And yet, there was always a downside to every   
time one used it. Someone always died or some gain was always lost. The monkey's paw was pure evil,   
no matter the potentials it held. Alastor is just like that. It's full of greatness but wickedness   
as well. It may have helped him slay Mundus. And just a few minutes ago, it saved Socrates' life.   
But those images from it, those terrifying and... familiar ones, they're evil. Pure evil.   
  
He can't Devil trigger, Dante concludes. Whatever happens, he'll only resort to melee and weapon   
fighting from here on out. Demon art combat is just too risky to commit to, even if the situation   
seriously calls for it.  
  
"Here're your guns, Dante," Socrates uncovers Ebony & Ivory from his waist's belt.  
  
Dante blinks. He sees Socrates holding both his weapons and extending them out to him. He sighs as   
he reclaims them. He thought Ebony & Ivory were lost to him in the wreckage. They're more than   
weapons, after all. He's closer to them than he is with anyone. Each time he has them with him, he   
remembers how precious life is, how precious it is preserve life. Dante glances at his pistols   
sideways. About the only bad news here, though, is that Ebony & Ivory don't have enough bullets   
in them to take down a mass of demons they might come across. The gun clips were all in the   
train. Wonderful.  
  
"Did you bring any holy water with you, doll face?"  
  
"Yeah," Trish taps her hand on three pouches attached to her belt.  
  
"Good, we might be a little short of arms," he says and starts walking for the forest.  
  
Trish and Socrates soon follow. Socrates tries not to laugh, seeing how Dante is walking very   
manly but at the same time wearing a jacket tied around his waist. How much of a riot is THAT?   
The humor slowly subsides, however, once uneasiness settles over him. Socrates stops a moment to   
look at the forest they have to cross to reach the mountains. For some reason, the green and   
seemingly innocent forest now looks obscenely evil.  
  
  
  
  
An hour passes and the rain finally stops. The clouds remain dark gray and the wind continues to   
roar, breezing on and off again. The forest's trees move, swaying left to right. They're extremely   
tall, as if reaching the tip of the sky itself. Their dark arms are stretched in all directions,   
painfully twisted. From afar, they look like dark silhouette figures of hideous creatures,   
threatening to attack anyone that dares to cross them. Drops of water drip soundlessly from the   
tips of their lifeless leaves. They drip and echo onto the puddles of water that have been formed   
from the recent rain. The muddy ground, itself, seems alive as well. Leaves from the trees fall   
on it and build. One can almost swear that it moves with a mind of its own.  
  
Once in awhile, thunder strikes from a great distant, flashing the sky bright white. Trish nearly   
becomes startled, reflexively reaching for Sparda on her back. Once the flash goes away she resumes   
breathing in. She can feel Dante's eyes on her. They're probably amused. But can he blame her? She   
hates this entire mission. There's something about it that makes her... scared.   
  
"Son of a bitch..." curses Dante suddenly.  
  
"Who are you calling a 'son of a bitch'?" Trish raises an eyebrow. Surprised.  
  
"Not to you, babe. I just realized something."  
  
"Yes? What?" Socrates wants to know, realizing how angry Dante looks now.  
  
"All my CD's and stuff..." Dante disappointingly shakes his head. Sad. "Fucking explosion blew   
'em away. This is so depressing..."  
  
Trish and Socrates frown, hearing how serious and wounded Dante is. They soon look at each other.   
Curves form on their lips and shortly after, both explode in a heap of laughter.  
  
"What?" Dante asks confused, not understanding. "What's so funny?"  
  
"Jesus, Dante," Trish chuckles, "I thought you were worried about something serious!"  
  
"Ex-cuse moi?" exclaims Dante, shocked. "That WAS serious! That was my fucking pride and joy   
collection! Fucking Rob Zombie and Static X... I had to bid on Ebay to buy most of their CD's for   
a reasonable price! They don't come cheap, y' know!"  
  
"Cheapskate..." comments Trish with a large grin on her face. "I always knew you were such a   
cheapskate, Dante. Buying off of Ebay... Ha! Only cheapskate people bid on Ebay. I bet your email   
addy is 'cheap_guy@hotmail.com.'"  
  
"No, m' darling," corrects Dante with a sly smile to mimic Trish's. "Only SMART people, such as   
myself thank you, bid on Ebay. It's people who buy a CD for twenty bucks when they could save at   
least five who need their oil changed. And I'll have you know..."  
  
As Dante continues to gripe, Socrates and Trish continue to laugh, not really paying attention to   
him. No matter how much Dante argues Trish always manages to make a successful comeback remark   
because, let's face it, Dante really IS a cheap guy. Why else would he have DNC located at a   
low-rented complex and wear the same clothes everyday? Ha! It looks like her sense of humor has   
finally kick in to mega after all. But, man, this feels a lot better, Trish thinks seriously   
inside. Before, she was nearly shitting on her pants. Now... the tension has lessen.  
  
"What's a Rob Zombie again?" Socrates asks Dante. Confused.  
  
"EXCUSE ME! You mean to tell me that you don't know who Rob Zombie is?"  
  
"Uh-oh..." Trish smiles at Socrates, shaking her head and feeling sorry for him. When it comes to   
demons Dante is all hunter. But when it comes to music and anything he seriously obsesses over...   
lord have mercy! "Now you're done for. I think you just did your first mistake, wing boy."  
  
"But..." he starts, nervous, "I honestly don't know what a 'Rob Zombie' is."  
  
" 'What a Rob Zombie is'?" quotes Dante, bewildered, "What the hell?"  
  
"I wouldn't recommend you getting him any angrier than he is right now, wing boy," Trish humorously   
warns. "Dante has a very short temper. You should see what he does to furniture... In fact, he did   
a TON of damage with the furniture back on Mallet Island."  
  
"Hey, I was jus' practicing my sword swing," inserts Dante as he twirls his gun, Ebony, with a   
finger. " 'Sides, it's not like Mundus minded. I figured I did the guy a favor since his place   
needed a makeover, y' know."  
  
Trish laughs, totally agreeing. "I can just see you Devil triggering for the purpose of smashing   
a chair, ha!"  
  
"Devil triggering?" asks Socrates.  
  
"Yeah, that's what Dante calls it when he transforms into a demon."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"But speaking of Mundus," Dante says, "I wonder who owned that castle in Mallet Island. From what   
I read from its library, there was a cult who worshipped Mundus there."  
  
"Wait a minute..." Trish frowns and soon jokes, "You were actually taking the time to READ from   
the library? While taking out demons at the same time? Damn, Dante, I don't think I'll ever   
figure you out."  
  
"Whatever. C'mon, Trish. I'm being serious here. You know anything on the castle? Do you know who   
built it? The cult, perhaps?"  
  
"The original owner was King Alexander the third," Socrates answers out of the blue, making both   
Dante and Trish turn their heads at him. "The cult started to form during the time of the fighting   
but didn't take into full effect until after the battle. You see... a couple of Mundus' followers   
were once loyal servants of the King. Yet, seeing Mundus as a powerful God, they decided to switch   
sides and assassinated King Alexander before the struggle between demon and humans had started.   
Thus, leaving one of Alexander's sons in charge of the Kingdom of Mallet, which wasn't an island   
back in the days but, instead, part of a continent. Anyway, the murderers were, to say the least,   
very secretive. No one knew who assassinated King Alexander, even when Sparda defeated Mundus. It   
was way later on, when Sparda had won and the people decided to move from Mallet in hopes of   
leaving their battled scars behind, that the group of assassins became a cult and worked to   
resurrect Mundus.  
  
Though they never succeeded in resurrecting Mundus during their time there, they did master many   
arts of black magic by acquiring information throughout the world. Because of that, they were able   
to separate Mallet from the rest of the continent in the Eastern Europeans. Not only did they   
accomplish that but also, they were able to MOVE the 'island' from one place onto the next.   
Therefore, if a person ever located the island, they wouldn't be able to see it at the same place   
again. In other words, the cult was successful in making the island ALIVE and a perfect breathing   
ground for Mundus."  
  
"Wow..." Dante comments, "I never knew you had so much information on you, Socrates. You're   
practically a super computer."  
  
"Well, I try to stay informed," Socrates slightly blushes.  
  
"All right," Trish finally says. "Now that we've got THAT out of the way, do you mind telling us   
who was that woman we just fought, Socrates? Seeing how 'informed' you are."  
  
"Siren," he answers very seriously, "Her name's Siren and she's everything the name says. Her   
enchanting beauty and voice can summon even the strongest of men."  
  
"Yeah, I noticed," Trish glances at Dante. Smiling.  
  
She half expected for Dante to smirk. Surprisingly, he doesn't. In fact, she can't help but to   
see how fast Dante has lost his lively attitude just a second ago. It's like someone pulled the   
switch off of his happier side. Out with the ole' Happy Dante and in with the usual Grumpy.  
  
"Siren is one of David's faithful supporters," Socrates continues, "She has the power to possess,   
manipulate, and create. In fact, she is one of the founders of the several creatures you faced in   
Mallet Island."  
  
"Yeah, I recognized those scissor creatures from Mallet Island. Dante and me like to call them   
Sin Scissors or Sin Scythes, depending on the weapon they have."  
  
"You actually CALL them names?" Socrates cocks an eye at Trish.  
  
"Yeah. Categorizing them makes things easier for us to know who's who since there seem to be a   
lot of demons to go around."  
  
"Yes. And it'll probably get worse since Siren is just ONE of David's minions."  
  
"What do you mean?" Trish stops walking, looking at Socrates very seriously.  
  
"I mean that David has several other followers. I'm not sure who or how many, but I can   
guarantee you that they're not the sociable type."  
  
"They as powerful as Siren?" Dante wants to know.  
  
"Without a doubt."  
  
"Terrific. As if Siren wasn't enough for us to handle..."  
  
"What else can you tell us about her, Socrates?" Trish asks, "And why did she call Dante her   
'new love'?"  
  
"Because Siren's history is a depressing one. Many of the townswomen in England were jealous of   
Siren's beautiful appearance. Men AND woman, both married and single, practically flocked to her,   
wanting her. At about the time the New World began, she settled in with the rest of the Puritans.   
She was the daughter of a preacher, a strict and often abusive man who both beat and molested her   
when she was just a child. As she grew older however, she met and fell madly in love with a man   
coming from the east coast. He was deeply enchanted by her beauty. From that moment forth, she   
remained faithful to him and only him.  
  
"Unfortunately, the man she fell in love with was married and had five children. Divorce was also   
out of the question. And her father was still the abusive man that he always was. Siren finally   
concluded that happiness was out of their reach.  
  
"Too bad her man didn't think so. He decided to take matters into their own hands. Convincing her   
that they were soul mates and that any risk was worth it, they set out to kill his wife and her   
father."  
  
Sighing, Socrates shakes his head.  
  
"They didn't get away with it, obviously. Immediately, when the town folks came to obtain the lovers,   
the man accused Siren of being a witch. He claimed that Siren bewitched him and made him hack up his   
wife into a million pieces and chop up each of his own children's heads. The town's folks bought it   
and burned Siren at the stake while the man went unscratched. This happened at the stroke of a bell   
where a storm had come right after her execution."  
  
"Was she really a witch? Did she really have this power?"  
  
"No. She was human all the way."  
  
"And the man? What happened to him?"  
  
"Nothing happened to him during his stay on Earth. He lived and died a normal life. In fact, he even   
had the 'decency' of marrying again and had three sons from it. Talk about a man without a guilty   
conscience, right? But all came back to him tenfold when judgment day came for him. He was punished   
by being resurrected as a mosquito. It may sound funny at first, but can you honestly tell me that   
you haven't killed a mosquito without much regard for it?"  
  
Trish thinks.  
  
"That's what I thought," inserts Socrates with a nod.  
  
"Now can you get to the part on what she wants from me?" Dante asks, his voice very hard and   
serious.  
  
"She wants love," answers Socrates, "She's been searching for true love for over an eternity now.   
She went to hell after killing her father. There, David promised to give her love again if she   
obeyed his every command. It looks like she's found her 'ideal' mate."  
  
Socrates glances at Dante carefully. Dante doesn't say anything.  
  
"Ironic enough," continues the angel, "David granted Siren the powers that the townspeople accused   
her of having in the first place. Weird fate, huh?"  
  
"Do you think David sent Siren to attack us?" asks Trish, awfully quiet and concerned.  
  
"I don't know who else could since Siren only obeys David. So, I'd say yes."  
  
"But... that doesn't make sense..." Trish shakes her head, confused, "If he sent Siren after us,   
then he knows that we're going after the book. But... Doesn't he WANT us to find the book in the   
first place? Why is he sending Siren to attack us if he's depending on us?"  
  
Socrates becomes silent; he starts to fiddle with his necklace. Trish looks at Dante.  
  
"I don't like this, Dante," she says extremely worried. "I don't like this one bit. Everything   
about this feels so... wrong."  
  
Again with the 'this feels wrong' statement from Trish. Dante looks back at his partner. Dully. If   
he was given a dollar for each time she said that then he'd be a millionaire by now. She's been   
saying this since forever, as it seems. Yet, she's right. Regardless of how tired he is to hear her   
favorite worrying phrase, he absolutely agrees. He knows that his mission is to rescue his mother   
and brother. They're depending on him. However, he can't ignore the eerie sensations that's   
disturbing Trish too. Something fishy is going on. He can't quite place his finger on it. It's   
there... like a splinter in his mind that he can't get out.  
  
Dante rubs the back of his head, feeling a slight headache coming. Everything feels like a dream.   
It's like nothing here is real. It's all just an illusion. He keeps thinking that he's going to   
wake up at any moment now. This second. Maybe the next. But it never happens. He keeps opening his   
eyes to view this world. Christ, what REALLY is going on here?  
  
"Tell us about Siren's connection to Mallet Island," Dante finally inquires to Socrates.  
  
"David sent Siren to help Mundus," the angel answers, "She created many of the demons you were   
forced to kill. While her creatures' attempt to kill you may have failed, this is kind of bad.   
Bad because, through your battles, Siren already knows what you're capable of doing. And what   
you're not."  
  
"What?" inserts Trish and adds sarcastically, "Well, that's just peachy..."  
  
"I thought Mundus was trying to overthrow David," Dante crosses his arms across his chest. "Why   
would David help Mundus if he were trying to do that?"  
  
"Because David and Mundus are actually great allies. Remember, we all have different realms. Mundus   
wants to conquer another realm from David's so he really isn't going against David. He just wants a   
piece of the pie. Both of them have everything to gain if they ally themselves."  
  
"Wait a minute..." Dante looks at Trish and then at Socrates, "I just had a thought... Do you   
suppose that it was David who helped Mundus destroy the seal my father trapped him in? Is that   
why he escaped?"  
  
"I'd probably bet my harp on that," Socrates jokes.  
  
Dante isn't amused. Instead, he clenches his fists. That little shit... So that's how Mundus escaped,   
he finally realizes. David helped set him free. But... why? Why a few weeks ago? Why not after his   
father's death? Or even before that? It's as if David waited for the right time. Right time? Right   
time for WHAT?  
  
He starts to walk, knowing that his answers are waiting for him. If they don't get moving again then   
they're just delaying the inevitable. The faster they get to wherever they're going the better. Hard   
to believe, though, that if what Socrates says is true, it'll lead him to the past.   
  
The past... His father. Dante's eyes grow soft. Will he see him? And if he does, what is he going to   
say? There are so many questions and things that he's been wanting to tell him. He remembers the days   
how Vergil and him would daydream, seeing their father despite the fact that he was long dead before   
either of them knew how to talk. They were, what, ten months old before he died? Amazing, considering   
the fact that their father had lived over two thousand years. He met their mother about that medieval   
era too. If it weren't for the red amulet, she would've died a long time ago. However, it kept her   
from aging so that the two would live by each other's side for as long as he lived.   
  
During that time, he protected Earth, doing a similar gig as the one he's taken up on in DNC. Once   
America started to develop weapons like guns, it was only a matter of time before his father partly   
traded his sword in for his famous pistols and raised hell for the underworld.  
  
Once his father died, his mother decided that it was time for her to 'age'. Therefore, she gave Vergil   
and him the amulet. Why his mother and father waited so long to have Vergil and him, he'll probably   
never know. But it must've been painful for father to have realized that after living for so long in   
Earth he'd die shortly after the time his brother and him were born. How did he feel? Did... he cry?  
  
Both Trish and Socrates follow his lead. As they penetrate deeper into the forest, the wind picks up   
a notch. It's times like this that he wished he had a backup trench coat. Damn, he suddenly remembers.   
His trench coat. He had to fight for it and it cost him an arm and a leg. After all, finding red   
leather is hard to come by these days. It might be because most men don't look good in red, if he   
doesn't mind himself boldly saying.  
  
"So how did you survive the train, wing boy?" Dante asks.  
  
"It all happened so fast that I can't remember the details," Socrates explains, "All I can really   
recall is seeing the bridge and the lion. I jumped out without knowing where I was going to land.   
Even then, I nearly made it. If it weren't for Alastor I would've fallen and died."  
  
"Died?" Trish asks, holding herself with her arms and looking up at the dark gray sky. "How does   
an angel die again?"  
  
"Angels don't," Socrates says, "But humans do. You see... I'm kind of... BORROWING this body for   
awhile."  
  
"Yikes," Dante grins. "I can see where you're going with this."  
  
"So I guess this isn't how you really look like?" Trish says.  
  
"No..." Socrates replies softly.  
  
"Then tell us who you were in your other lifetime, tell us what you looked like," Trish gently   
requests.  
  
"I'm sorry... I can't..." Socrates says, terribly quiet.  
  
"Why not?" asks Dante, "What's the shame in it?"  
  
"Because..."  
  
"Because what?"  
  
Socrates stays silent. His mouth remains shut. Trish senses something awfully sorrowful here and   
walks right in front of the angel, stopping him in his tracks.  
  
"If you don't want to talk about it, that's all right," Trish gives him a warm smile and touches   
his shoulder. "I'm sorry for bringing this up."  
  
"No..." murmurs Socrates, "That's okay..."  
  
"For an angel you sure aren't the merrier type they always show in the movies," Dante comments   
rather disappointedly.  
  
"Look... I just don't want to talk about it. It brings back... ugly memories."  
  
"They always say it's good for the 'soul' to confront the past in order to move on to the future,"   
Dante continues. "It's kind of funny that I'm telling you this. You, of all people."  
  
Socrates tries to smile but can't.  
  
"Ignore him," Trish tells Socrates with a grin, "He doesn't know what he's talking about. It's a   
part of his nature to be such an asshole at times. Just ignore him."  
  
Right before Trish can continue, she sees how painful the look on the angel's face is. It's sad.   
Terribly sad. She frowns abruptly when she notices the angel shredding a tear on his left eye. He   
quickly wipes it away.  
  
"Socrates...?" Trish softly says. "Are you... all right?"  
  
"Um, yeah," he replies, trying to sound better, "Of course I am."  
  
Dante stops walking and notices the angel's blushed and puffy cheeks.  
  
"That's not what I see from where I'm standing, wing boy..."  
  
Trish gives Dante a hard look, indicating for him to knock his shit off already. Trish glances back   
at the angel, placing a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Socrates, please... talk to me. What's wrong?"  
  
The angel simply shakes his head. "I'm sorry. It's just... bad memories."  
  
Socrates looks away, not wanting to go into them. He doesn't even want to remember them. They're too   
painful. When he became an angel, he expected things to be different for him. But they weren't. And   
then HE found him. And HE loved him more than the other one. His Holy One... Slowly, he sinks to his   
knees and lowers his head. Dante and Trish can see small drops of tears dripping from his face onto   
the ground of spoiled dirt and leaves.  
  
"I was born in Greece..." Socrates finds himself blurting out loud, not even aware of it, "My mother   
was a prostitute. Back then they really didn't know how to abort a child so she had me. After she   
did, she left me near the garbage area. She was glad too since I developed a rare bone disease when   
I was born. It wasn't life-threatening but made me look... really ugly. Deformed, or 'special' as   
people call it today. A couple of homeless people found me and raised me. They never had a child   
and so, they figured that they wanted to take me in. They became my stepparents."  
  
Socrates' mouth goes dry. Remembering. He remembers it all vividly. That's the trouble with his   
memories. They're all vivid, right down to the end.  
  
"They were really good to me. They fed me as much as they could and gave me clothes wherever they   
could find some from people's garbage. You might be amaze what good stuff you can find from people's   
garbage cans these days," he tries to humor. He falls short. Crying. "They were... good people. They   
just didn't let me go out from our hideout. I scared a lot of people with my appearance, that's why.   
And even among the unfortunate people of Greece, I really did feel like an outcast. People used to   
call me..."  
  
He stops, thinking of an ugly word he hasn't heard in a long time. A word that had so much of an   
effect back then.  
  
"A war had come," he says, "and many people were accusing other people for the war. After all, up   
to that point, Greece was in its triumphant moment. The high class, especially, was enjoying the good   
life. And why not? They were rich and had the world at their feet while their unfortunate 'servants'   
were struggling to get through a day. They obsessively felt that they were the image of God and that   
this was why Greece was so prosperous. They felt that destiny had given them this beautiful place and   
status.   
  
When the war came, however, they were eager to blame someone for the downfall. They didn't want to   
believe that Greece was just as liable for war as any other place in the world. They thought Greece   
was... different. People, innocent people, were sent to their executions when they said something that   
was 'evil.' Even family relatives turned against each other. No one could so much as whisper their   
sentiments without suffering the consequences. It soon got to the point that the people of Greece   
blamed the homeless. They thought the homeless were jealous of them and therefore, cursed them. They   
found and killed my stepparents. And then they found me..."  
  
The words coming from Socrates' mouth are stuttered and broken with tears.  
  
"I was thirteen years old when one of them killed me, soon placing my corpse in the disposable area   
of the city so no one would ever see me again. My body just rotted until there was nothing left but   
my bones..."  
  
He shakes his head, replaying his own death. He sees himself struggle against the heavy white man   
who pushed him down into the water. It was cold, so cold. His body jerked involuntarily the moment   
the chilling water surrounded him.  
  
From below, he made out three blurry figures, all looking down at him. He barely heard their   
muffled conversation. They were talking to each other, or at least, that's what he thought they   
were doing. When he finally heard one of them blurt out that word, that ugly word, his feet and   
hands were beginning to feel numb. Eyes wide. Arms stretched out awkwardly. Head thrown back. No   
matter how much he tried, he couldn't get the man off of him. He couldn't for the life of him. He   
just COULDN'T push those strong and heavy hands wrapped around his tiny and frail throat away.  
  
He remembers his lungs filling with water, choking and gagging for air. He remembers the figures   
above him laughing, their faces appearing twisted and obscene, glaring at him with cool comfort.   
Pleased. Again, they said that terrible word. Devil.  
  
He was only thirteen years old but he already knew what prejudice and pure hatred was. He saw them   
in his murderer's eyes. But he also looked beyond that, for he too saw those same eyes in all of   
humanity. No matter how pure or 'saved' a person was he was able to see the true inner evil   
everyone possessed, clearly viewing it with both dismay and concern.   
  
"They thought I was a devil," he finally concludes, voice in a slight whisper, "They thought that   
I was a spawn of Hades because of the way I looked."  
  
The two devil hunters don't mutter a word. Both Trish and Dante can't believe what they're hearing.   
They can't even apprehend the situation Socrates was forced to face. They never realized that this   
seemingly nerdy and naïve angel had such a tough upbringing. A part of Dante's head senses the   
irony in this all. It senses the irony in his death and even in Siren's. But he can't summon the   
strength to think about it. Jesus, he thinks bitterly. Jesus...  
  
Socrates wipes the tears away from his face. He slowly stands up, trying to smile, trying to remind   
Dante and Trish that angels are SUPPOSE to symbolize hope. Happiness. Not grief. Not sorrow. Not   
pain.  
  
"I guess it doesn't matter anymore. People will always see evil wherever they WANT to see evil,"   
the angel says, his voice somewhat hard but still timid. "If they're not careful, they soon become   
that evil they despise."  
  
"That they do, my friend!" a man's voice echoes from within the forest. "Fucking pathetic bastards,   
aren't they?"  
  
Dante and Trish frown, hearing the voice speak and echo across the forest. The grimace they form   
worsens once they notice a fog suddenly looming over the entire area, slowly creeping over the   
forest with a will of its own. The devil hunters stand still, reading this as a bad sign. Even   
the air has become somewhat stale and chilly. Immediately, Dante and Trish look and search for   
the source of it. Dante's eyes narrow coldly when he gets the feeling of someone staring at him.   
Tensed, his hands grip tightly onto his guns with Alastor surging with electricity that's held   
under Dante's armpit.  
  
"My, my, my..." the man's voice continues, his voice coming from everywhere. "Ain't this sweet?   
Looks like I have visitors today. And here I was, thinking that I was the loneliest man in the   
entire universe."  
  
Whoever he is, they can't see him. The trees are blocking everything. Dante purses his lips together.   
He's curious, but ready to kick some ass if necessary. Last time he played it easy it caused the   
lives of innocent people and almost took the angel's life too. No. This ain't going to happen again.   
Not on his watch.  
  
Dante gives a quick glance at Socrates, realizing how much pale he looks. It's similar to the   
expression he gave prior to Siren's attack.  
  
"Well?" Dante asks the angel quietly. "Got any ideas on who this guy is? Is he with David?"  
  
Socrates keeps quiet, staring at the forest in a daze. Oblivious. Dante mutters a curse word under   
his breath, a strand of hair covering the darkness his light blue eyes hold. Great, he thinks   
sarcastically to himself. In other times, Socrates is a chatterbox that just can't find the will to   
shut up. And now, when he really needs him to talk, 'Mr.-know-it-all' can't get a thing out of his   
mouth.   
  
Dante shakes his head, rethinking this thought. No. He's being too hard on the kid, especially after   
hearing his confession. If he were in Socrates' shoes he'd probably act the same way. Probably worse.   
Yeah. He doesn't need Socrates to talk right now. His silence, alone, can be translated as bad news   
anyway.  
  
A storm is coming and it'll probably be the shit storm of all time like the last one. Dante grimaces   
at that last thought. He continues viewing the eerie forest with all his human and demon senses he has   
with him. He hears the crack of twigs not that far away. He grabs Socrates by the arm and pulls the   
angel close to him so that he can keep a good eye on him in case things turn sour or for the worse.  
  
Dante hands Socrates Ivory, regardless of how the angel protests in taking it. He can see why the   
protest. Angels carry harps. Not grenade launchers. But this isn't a grenade launcher and this isn't   
the time to debate. After giving him a hard look, Socrates complies. Good, Dante thinks. It's better   
to have him armed than defenseless. Dante quickly turns and gives Trish a silent hand gesture, wanting   
her to flank his left and check the area there.  
  
Nodding in silence, Trish complies, moving as quietly and precise like a panther ready to find and   
attack her prey. Good girl, he nods to himself mentally in satisfaction.  
  
They've only worked with each other for a few weeks since the Mallet Island fiasco. Yet, Trish is a   
fast learner, catching on the 'do's and don'ts' in the art of devil hunting. Sure, she's a rookie.   
Hell, back on Mallet Island, her powers were as good as useless until he needed them at the end to   
take out that bastard, Mundus. But the girl can kick some ass. There's no denying that fact. If   
anything, 'employing' Trish was actually a smart move for BOTH him and her.  
  
Trish moves ahead very slowly and carefully, sometimes cracking delicate twigs underneath her long   
and black boots. Her senses tell her that the source of the voice is near. Far, but near enough. She   
can practically taste the guy if such a thing even existed for her. Trish peers into a group of   
intertwined trees, observing them steadily. She could've sworn she saw movement coming from them.   
Her breathing grows short and quiet. The less noise she makes the better, she tells herself.  
  
Trish's leg lifts and goes over a log as she advances about the perimeter. The scent is getting   
somewhat closer. Wait a minute... she just saw a shadow pass her. She thinks of calling out to   
Dante but has second thoughts of it. If she cries out to him then she might alert the stalker to   
her exact location and possibly be ambushed. No. Too risky.  
  
The female devil hunter quietly removes Sparda, knowing that if she's the one to find him, then   
she's the one to have to take him out. Those were the rules Dante told her on her first devil   
hunting assignment. Lucky for her, she wasn't the one to find the enemy during that time. Dante   
was a step ahead. Today, however, she's not so lucky and Dante isn't around to catch the scent   
she's caught on.   
  
Sparda's metal gleams as she unsheathes it. She mentally prepares herself for the worse to come.   
She holds Sparda with just one hand despite its heavy weight, drawing it close to her very-feminine   
right hip. Anticipating for an attack, the demon woman swallows hard and moves into an area that   
has a large opening, free from trees and other obstacles as such.  
  
"Whoa!" the mysterious man suddenly shouts in disbelief, almost causing Trish to jump to the   
nearest tree near her. "Now I KNOW I should've prepared for visitors! Ain't you such a babe,   
hot stuff! Got a name? Or should I call you mine?"  
  
Trish hears the sound of leaves moving. Shit. He knows where she is. He's closing in. Breathing   
hard, Trish turns to find Dante's location. He's already heading for her position along with   
Socrates. She sees his familiar figure not that far away.  
  
"You can call me your worse enemy if you don't show yourself!" Trish decides to call out, no   
longer going for stealth mode since her target already knows her location.  
  
The sound of more leaves rustling again.  
  
Dante moves in to Trish's whereabouts. A part of the asshole in him bitches at the fact that Trish   
was the one to track the demon first. He subsides that asshole, however, and reminds himself to   
concentrate on the seriousness of the issue. This isn't the typical demon hunting he's used to.   
These boys play hard. If the kid is right and there are more of David's minions out there that   
are as powerful as Siren, then he's going to need to stay focus. He can't afford to play the cocky   
cowboy this time around, not with his mother and brother's soul at stake.  
  
He draws near to Trish, his demon scent going wild. He's sniffing and hearing over thirty demons   
nearby. Wherever they're approaching from they're moving in very fast, circling over their positions   
to avoid him getting a precise lock on them. They smell familiar too. Obviously, they're demons he's   
faced before. Recently? No. He doesn't think so. But he's faced them not that long ago. See, the   
trouble is that most of these demons have the same smell. They have that same fucking 'I-haven't-  
taken-a-bath-since-the-dawn-of-time' smell that makes recognizing one from another nearly impossible.   
Yeah. Totally gross. And their movements are also kind of similar. But beyond them, beyond it all,   
there's a scent that grabs his attention. It's a powerful one. Big time.  
  
Suddenly, the whirl of movement emerges from behind. It's coming from the big one. Dante immediately   
pushes Socrates aside so that no harm can come to the angel. He spins around, twirling and pointing   
his Ebony forward. His eyes turn cold once he locates the papa of all.  
  
A tall twenty-something man stands there, one of which possesses extremely waist-long and beautiful   
black-night hair. He's extremely handsome with pale-like features and a long, perfect face. He   
stands there, motionless but without a care in the world. His finger cut-off gloved hands hang   
casually by his sides.   
  
In one of the gloved hands contains a bizarre jet-black metal gauntlet. The gauntlet takes the shape   
of a dragon with an open and small hole where the eye is supposed to be. The bracelet of the gauntlet   
also contains four beautifully crafted, mini-sized orbs: red, blue, gray, and white.   
  
Behind his light clear purple sunglasses he wears stylishly, his blazing eyes of the same color look   
at Dante in a bit amusement. His head tilts slightly, getting another view of Dante from sideways.   
The man doesn't attack Dante but delivers a grin that suggests a dark agenda.  
  
The mysterious male is dressed in all dark purple clothing. A short leather purple jacket with   
matching tight pants. The skeleton necklaces worn around his neck mix well with the steel-cold   
buckle of his belt that contains the face of a skeleton seeming to scream. Mouth open, eyes glaring.   
Overall, the clothing looks expensive and chosen with great consideration. A man who enjoys style,   
Dante concludes. The leather jacket, alone, just spells 'a million dollars'. His steel-toed black   
cowboy boots glisten as he takes a couple of steps forward. The tight black shirt and pants stick to   
his well-toned and muscular body so tightly that it's practically a part of him. Though Dante can't   
get a full look of it, the mysterious man has a large and dark sword holstered on his back.   
  
His slick black hair sways a little under the breeze. He stops right in front of Dante, strands of   
long hair over his left face. The man doesn't look at Dante, though. Instead, he first glances at   
Trish very sensually and removes his light purple shades very slowly. Grinning.  
  
"Hey, there, beautiful," he delivers Trish a quick and suave smile, licking his lips. "Want to go   
watch a movie with me? Or make-out there? Or, shit, play a role-playing video game in my Playstation   
4? Either way, it suits me just fine..."  
  
The man walks around the three very casually, as if he's an important man. He stops again when he   
notices Socrates across him who appears nervous. The angel looks at him in utter silence. The dark   
haired figure grins at the timid and younger man.  
  
"Nice to see you, Socrates," he speaks again, smoothly and without a care, "Looks like I ain't the   
only one assigned a task. Did your 'Holy One' finally decide to test you? Or did you ask him for   
this gig to prove your worthiness?"  
  
Socrates doesn't say anything. Nervousness is soon replaced by frustration. The timid angel clenches   
his fists. He's angry but unable to summon the courage to talk.   
  
The black haired man ignores the angel, no longer amused. He returns his attention to Dante only to   
chuckle at the near-nude devil hunter.  
  
"Don't tell me my Siren cast a spell over your clothes and made them vanish into thin air, man. I   
had no idea she was THAT obsessed and perverted."  
  
"Who are you?" Dante points Alastor at the man.  
  
"Name's Imp," Imp grins and defies Dante by fearlessly licking the tip of Alastor with his pierced   
tongue, causing it to surge with electricity.  
  
Dante quickly pulls his sword away. Disgusted.  
  
"Are you with David?" Dante asks.  
  
"Me?" laughs Imp, "With David? Pu-lease! Shit, no. I'm just one of his bastard children he had here   
on Earth when he decided to get his 'freak' on. If it were up to me, I'd be in Las Vegas having   
myself a good time. But my old man wanted me to check up on you, Dante. The lazy bastard. Seems   
like he digs your kind of work. Sheeit, he looks at you as the child he never had. What an asshole,   
right?"  
  
"You know my name?"  
  
"Du-uh! Like I wouldn't have called you 'Dante' if I didn't know it, man."  
  
"You've got a big mouth, 'Imp'."  
  
"Funny, my old man said the same thing. Big mouth. Yeah, that's me."  
  
"Why are you here?" Trish inquires and joins Dante.  
  
"Oooh, the hot one decides to finally speak..." Imp grins and licks his lips again.  
  
"Enough of your bullshit," growls Trish, "Why are you here?"  
  
"Well, if I told you why, then I'd have to tell you why Siren is here, and then I'd have to tell   
you all the truth, and then that would put me in deep doo-doo, and then that'd TOTALLY ruin the   
surprise." He shakes his head and shrugs. "Jeez, folks, sorry. But I'd prefer to keep to myself,   
thank-you-very-much. I get to live longer, y' know what I mean?"  
  
"You're screwed anyway, Imp," Dante cocks his gun, preparing to fire.  
  
Imp laughs. "Ha! Like shooting me is gonna accomplish anything, y' geezer? I'll let you in on a   
little secret, devil boy... don't trust your eyes. Don't trust yourself. In fact, don't fucking   
trust anything. You might not like what you see once you see the truth, but it's certainly better   
than going in blind like you are right now. Each action and thought you take during these three days   
will affect the final day when all answers will be revealed."  
  
Dante remains still, looking at Socrates for answers. What the hell is he talking about? He wants to   
ask him. This guy is talking nonsense. Truth? What truth? He can't make out anything Imp is saying.   
It's like Imp is speaking in riddles or something.  
  
Unfortunately, for him, Socrates remains quiet. Angry. Unable to offer Dante answers. Dante has a   
hunch that Socrates has had a run-in with Imp before. Socrates probably had a run-in with David's   
entire gang since he knows who and what they are.  
  
"Hey," Imp addresses Dante casually, "I'm curious... do you know what happens in three days from now?   
Do you... have any idea why it's so special and why my old man chose it?"  
  
"Because that's the birth of the book, asshole." Dante rolls his eyes. "Please ask me something that   
I DON'T know."  
  
Imp smiles. It's a steady and twisted one. "Yeah. That's what I expected. Man... you really ARE   
clueless to what's really going on... I'd have expected YOU, of all people, to know why it is so   
important. You. Ha! Isn't this a riot? Riot, that's what I'm saying!"  
  
"What are you bragging about now, Imp?" Dante grits his teeth. "I'm tired of your shit. If you got   
something to say, then say it. Stop wasting my time."  
  
"Time?" Imp says with a slight nod. "Funny, that's really funny. You're telling me that I'm wasting   
your time when, in reality, you're the one wasting time by talking about time and me wasting that   
time, time, in which, you don't have much of."  
  
"Shut up!" Dante frustrates, annoyed.  
  
Imp laughs, pleased somehow. Dante feels heat running through his body. Every inch of him wants to   
put this guy out of submission. Every piece of him wants this man's bones to crack. Everything about   
him is so tempting to break.  
  
His thoughts subside a bit as his eyes catch a bit of the sword holstered behind Imp's back. He's never   
seen it before but recognizes it. Recognizes it? From where? Wait a minute...  
  
Dante's eyes narrow and then widen in shock. That sword! Yes, he's seen it before! The images back in   
the train station's restroom... The image of the dark man killing Trish... That's the sword! That's the   
sword that killed her!  
  
"Like it?" Imp stops laughing, noticing how Dante views his sword in great interest. "It's the sword of   
Exxon. Only the true King of Hell can wield it and unravel its powers."  
  
Dante's fists clench so tightly that the blood running through his hands stop to circulate. That   
sword... That fucking sword... Imp is the one! He's the bastard that kills Trish!  
  
Angrily, Dante swings Alastor across Imp's chest. Blood spurts from the other man's chest, spraying   
the ground. Imp staggers back, just as surprised as Trish and Socrates are.  
  
"Dante!" yells Trish, confused.   
  
She nearly runs to him until Socrates' hand holds her back. His youthful face expresses concern,   
begging her to stay out of it. Trish tries to push Socrates off but his hand remains firm on her   
shoulder, not wanting her to get in-between the dangerous situation. The angel gives her another   
disturbed appearance, not saying a word but saying everything at the same time. Trish blinks, slowly   
subsiding her struggle. She looks back at the two men fighting and understands. Even though she hates   
it, she understands that it'll only do Dante more harm if she intervenes. And besides, that rage he   
holds. There's something going on here.  
  
Without warning, Dante goes after Imp again with an aggressive downwards sword slash. Immediately,   
Imp takes out Exxon and blocks the hunter's attacks. The sound of cold metal clashes against each   
other, both cracking with electricity. The two men lock swords again with Dante glaring coldly at   
Imp and Imp giving him a cocky grin. Each of their muscles flexes and contract as both men use   
their strength to hold each other off.  
  
"SOMEONE needs to take a chill pill, y' know..." Imp manages to inform as he fights Dante's inhuman   
pressure with his own.  
  
"Bastard," Dante frustratingly mutters, not really caring what the dark haired man says. "I won't   
let you kill her!"  
  
"Her?" Imp almost laughs as their metals squeeze together again. "Kill who?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about!"  
  
"Jeez-Louise, Dante," Imp grunts when Dante implies more pressure, surprisingly clueless, "I   
think you need psychiatric help because I've no idea what you're talking about."  
  
"Liar!" screams Dante and miraculously manages to slice the other man's forearm with a swipe of his   
sword.  
  
"Too bad..." the dark haired replies once his wound immediately heals, "And I was beginning to like   
you a little, devil boy..."  
  
Despite the devil hunter steadily getting the advantage over Imp, the mischievous man amazingly   
slashes Exxon downward to lower Alastor's defenses. Before Dante can react to the new position, Imp   
executes an uppercut to Dante's chin with his free hand. It is soon followed by a roundhouse high   
kick that sends Dante to the air, quickly hitting the ground with a heavy thump.  
  
Imp commits a very high back flip that creates a large gap between him and the devil hunter. With a   
fashionably quick move, he both spins and holsters Exxon to its resting place.  
  
"Time to stop wasting time, devil boy, and get down to business, baby! Yeah!"  
  
Both Trish and Socrates notice how cold the air has become. It's becoming chilling to the bone,   
causing the hairs at the back of their necks to rise. Small flakes fall from the sky. Some of   
them are oddly colored by... blood?   
  
With a heavy grunt, Dante gets up from the ground. He never realized that Imp was so strong. Then   
again, this is his first time meeting him and, as he just heard, he's the son of a powerful devil.   
He has no idea what this guy is capable of doing or how twisted he is.   
  
Dante looks up just in time to see Imp extending his left arm with the black gauntlet.  
  
Imp admirably touches the bracelet of the gauntlet, caressing it as if he were caressing a kitten.   
Imp chuckles softly once he removes one of the orbs there, the blue one. He inserts the blue orb   
into a small gap located at the dragon's eye. The gauntlet glows with a blue hue. Amazingly, the   
dragon gauntlet actually blinks once before closing its eye, locking the blue orb into place. Several   
long and tentacle-like spikes soon emerge from the steel of the black metal. Alive. Imp closes his   
eyes, as if ready to brace himself. Abruptly, the black spikes painfully stab themselves in his arms,   
digging cunningly into his flesh.  
  
From where they stand, Dante, Trish, and Socrates see Imp's agonizing expression, his entire body   
now glowing with a blue color. Imp hollers like a madman, though, trying to ignore the pain. Spike   
after spike coming from the gauntlet continues to stab his entire body, not just the arms. His legs.   
His chest. His back. Everywhere. Soon laughing, the dark haired man's eyes snap open, blazing a blue   
color as if set on fire. Electricity surges throughout his body. His skin ripples. He seems to be...   
transforming.   
  
"Mater Christi..." whispers Dante in realization, "Imp... he can Devil Trigger..."  
  
Before Dante, Socrates, and Trish can get a good look on Imp's new transformation, the wind abruptly   
turns violent, whirling like a blizzard with rains of blood pouring down. Red snow falls from the   
heavens, gushing downward very fast. It soon colors the entire sky above crimson, creating a haunting   
look.   
  
Shortly after, Dante, Trish, and Socrates feel the ground beginning to tremble, like a huge earthquake.   
Parts of the ground splits apart and caves in deep into the muddy ground.  
  
"Hold on!" Socrates yells as he covers his face from the harsh wind and quickly grabs hold of a tree's   
trunk with both hands.  
  
"What's going on?" Trish tries to see through the gushes of red snow and wind. They touch her face so   
hard that they cause tiny slashes across her delicately pale skin.  
  
Dante puts Ebony in the pocket of the leather jacket wrapped around his waist. With one hand still   
holding Alastor, Dante wraps his fingers around a thick branch of a tree once he starts to feel the   
pressure of the wind pressing against him. He holds on as tight as he can, feeling his body being   
tossed around like a ragged doll. The wind now lifts him to the air.   
  
Damn! He curses and stabs his now-black and long fingernails into the wood of the branch. His other   
hand attempts to keep Alastor in its grips. Dante wraps his arm around the branch to make the task   
easier. The branch breaks off, however, and Dante finds himself flying with the wind until he smacks   
aggressively against another tree. A part of its sharp branches sticks out and slices his exposed   
chest, a line of blood seeping through his flesh. He ignores the pain, though. Desperately, the   
hunter hugs the tree so that he'll remain pinned to it for as long as the wind keeps pushing him   
forward.  
  
Meanwhile, Trish has managed to stab Sparda into the ground and holds on to its handle. Her lower   
body lifts upward and her fingers feel slippery. The grasp that Sparda has won't last long since the   
ground is too muddy. Its steel is slowly rising up with the wind, with her along with it! The willful   
woman closes her eyes, hoping that the wind somehow stops, hoping that it's not going to end like   
this.   
  
Surprisingly enough, her wish comes true.   
  
The wind slowly settles down. The snow stops falling too. Its scarlet color starts to soak and paint   
the ground red as the snow melts. Trish can feel everything decrease in strength, realizing how her   
body is steadily reaching the ground again. Gravity kicks in inevitably and she falls back to the   
Earth. The wind now reduced to only a breeze.   
  
The female hunter quickly stands up, eagerly knowing the fate of her fellow comrades. From where   
she is, she can't find Dante or Socrates. Taking a couple of steps forward and preparing to call   
out to them, Trish frowns the moment her demon senses start to aggravate her. It's picking up   
several demons nearby. Some are not that far away while others are too terribly close. She blinks   
the moment she feels someone standing behind her. She turns around.   
  
Trish doesn't have enough time to scream.  
  
Elsewhere, Dante and Socrates slowly come to. Dante's muscles ache slightly from the recent struggle   
against the wind and small quarrel with Imp. He finds Socrates not far from him and walks over to   
the still-grounded Socrates. He offers a hand to help lift the angel up. Socrates takes it and   
stands. The two study each other for a moment. Grinning foolishly. Both of them are consumed by   
mud and cold blood from the snow, especially Dante who's extremely grateful that the wind didn't   
snatch away his only clothing. Then, he'd really be pissed.  
  
Dante looks up, realizing that he can't see Trish anywhere.  
  
"Yo, Trish!" he hollers out loud and removes a block of mud clinging to his silver hair.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Trish?" he asks, waiting for an answer.   
  
His face is slightly concerned. There's still no answer.  
  
"C'mon, baby, talk to me," Dante calls out again.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Something's wrong," Dante later says uneasily when Socrates meets him within an inch.  
  
"Trish!" Socrates yells this time, "Trish, where are you? Answer us!"  
  
Again, nothing.  
  
Dante's jaw dances. Now he knows something is wrong. Did she fly off? Buddha, he certainly hopes   
not.  
  
"C'mon..." he mumbles to Socrates, trying not to sound worried. For his own sake. "Let's go find   
her."  
  
The two men immediately advance forward, looking left and right. Up and down. Everything, Dante   
notes uneasily, is silent. Even the breeze of the wind is mute. It's as if everything has come   
to a halt. Dante swallows hard, trying not to think of this as a bad thing even though he knows   
better. He clenches Alastor's handle and removes Ebony from the jacket's pockets as an extra   
safety precaution.  
  
"Trish!" Socrates continues to yell out loud as they walk deeper, wanting an answer back. "Trish!   
Talk to us! Where are you?"  
  
He lowers his pace, making sure that he's covering every bit of the area. Still, no sign of the   
black clad woman. His mouth forms a white line as he sucks his lips in. He glances back at Dante   
to ask him if he's catching her scent. Socrates grimaces, however, once he sees Dante come to a   
complete stop, eyes narrowly cold.  
  
"Dante?" he starts, "What's wrong? Have you found her?"  
  
Dante doesn't say anything. Instead, he circles around, trying to view everything. He isn't looking   
for Trish, Socrates knows. By the looks of it, he's looking for something else.  
  
"Dante?" he asks again.  
  
"Quiet," Dante finally replies, very quiet.   
  
Socrates complies.  
  
"I'm picking up several scents," Dante silently explains, "Several of 'em."  
  
Yeah. Several. They're the same ones he picked up before meeting Imp. Great, he tells himself. Not   
only is Trish missing and Imp has gone off somewhere, but also he feels the demons he felt earlier   
on.  
  
Socrates' displays a concerned face. Those scents Dante is picking up can only mean demons are   
nearby, he calculates. Is Trish all right? Or...? He looks down at the pistol in his hands. Funny,   
he's never used a gun before. He never liked these things. They're so destructive and a part of the   
violence spreading through humanity. But that's nothing compared to the violence an individual   
holds deep in him or her, right? Socrates wipes a bead of sweat from his eyebrow and glares away   
from Ivory. Something catches the corner of his eye.  
  
Dante doesn't notice Socrates moving away from him. He's too concerned with those signals. Wherever   
those demons are, they're preparing for an ambush that's for sure. They're looking at him right   
this second, seeing any potential weaknesses he holds. Well, then, c'mon. C'mon and bring your   
game, assholes. The reaper is here and the time for damnation has come. Meet the rest of your   
brothers and sisters, fuckers, Dante grins.  
  
The smile transforms into a near gasp. Wait a minute... there's that large scent again. It's from   
Imp. Shit. So the bastard didn't leave yet, huh? He should've... for his sake. He's not going to   
let him kill Trish. That boy is gonna get his ass kicked, he'll make sure of it.   
  
Again, the smirk crosses Dante's face as he readies himself.  
  
"Dante!" he suddenly hears.  
  
Instantly, he whirls around at the voice of Socrates'. Jesus, he didn't even realize wing boy left   
his sight until now.  
  
"I found her!" Socrates says, though a bit in distraught.  
  
Dante's eyes widen. He temporarily abandons the demon scents and runs to Socrates' position, trying   
to read the slight dismay in Socrates' voice. Trish! Lord, please let her be okay. He hopes that he   
isn't too late.   
  
Fast, he dashes past the trees until he spots Socrates' familiar figure. When Dante meets up with   
the angel, his mouth is gaped wide open. Trish!  
  
Trish. She stands in the middle of the forest. Her entire body, consumed with walls of ice. Trapped   
inside it. Her body position indicates her first reaction. One leg is slightly picked up from the   
ground, as if she wanted to run, while her arms are spread over her face in a defensive manner.   
Even her hair is frozen in place, some of it upward.  
  
"Trish!" Dante exclaims.  
  
Trish blinks, telling Dante that she's alive. However, she can't speak. Her entire face is still   
under the blocks of ice, mouth slightly open. Instinctively, Dante pounds his fist against the wall   
of ice, not caring if it causes his bare hands to bleed red. Socrates tries to help and kicks at   
the ice. When their efforts don't work, Dante resorts to Alastor and uses it to slice through. His   
face turns red when he sees that Alastor doesn't work either. This ice is the work of evil.  
  
He stops hitting the ice once he sniffs the demon scents. Socrates notices the face he makes and   
slowly turns around. Silent.  
  
The demons appear like ape-men made of pure ice. Their claws are sharp and each stand six feet tall.   
Their faces are nothing but curves and sharp turns created by ice. There are about twenty of them,   
each circling around the three.  
  
"Frosts..." Dante mutters under his breath.  
  
Frosts... some of the worse demon creatures he had to fight back on Mallet Island. As if battling   
Sin Scissors and Sin Scythes wasn't bad enough, these guys usually brought the house down. Not only   
did they attack in pairs, take a horrendous number of hits before finally buying it, but also, if he   
didn't work fast enough to dispose of them quickly they'd immediately recuperate all their wounds.   
Frosts literally froze anything that they touched. But it's strange. None of them had ice that was   
as hard as the one Trish is captured in. He usually was able to break it with Alastor or, better   
yet, Ifrit. Damn, he should've taken Ifrit along.  
  
"Like my new look?" he abruptly hears a voice inside his mind.  
  
Dante instantly recognizes the voice there.   
  
"Imp..." he says out loud.  
  
Dante turns for the source of the voice. His white blue eyes stare in disbelief, finally grasping   
Imp's new transformation. Jesus... 


	6. Distorted Transformation

Hey people! Yeeeah! I finally finished this chapter and let me say, WOW! All these  
responses over my story! Who'da thought! I'm soooo happy y'all like it! Expect   
things to get *real* interesting as the story continues forth. This is just an   
appetizer for the things TO come. ;-) Though, like I said previously, this story   
has some adult situations as we just saw from the previous chapter. Adult discretion   
is advise. ;-) BTW, I'm also going back and correcting some grammer stuff and  
doing a couple of other things. Don't be surprised to read an entirely new paragraph  
lol. Anyway, once again, thanks everyone and please tell me what you think of this   
story/chapter! :-D  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 6: Distorted Transformation  
  
The devil hunter's brows lift away from his eyes, a strand of hair touching lightly   
against his left cheek as a whirl of chilling wind stirs from above. His mouth is   
slightly parted, unable to make even the slightest of sounds. All he can do is gasp   
at the image he sees before him. At first, he thought he saw everything there was to   
know. Being a devil hunter who's been around the world, hunting demons for a living,   
you get to know all the stuff that goes around. He's seen exorcisms take place in the   
eastern parts of Rome. He's seen the ghosts of General Santa Anna's dead soldiers in   
central Texas. He's seen the undead awaken in Palermo, Sicily. He even remembers   
visiting a town in southern Mexico where the infamous Mano Pachona was. But this...   
damn, he doesn't know WHAT to make of this.  
  
Imp looks like a demon with large oversized wings. He's got the demon tail to match   
it. He's got the sharp and black claws that can easily cut through the strongest of   
steel. He even has the horns pierced out of the temples of his head. It's not like he   
didn't expect this. It's not like he thought he was the only person who could Devil   
trigger. After all, if both demon and human created him then the same could be done   
to anyone else. He can clearly even recall going to Africa a few years ago because   
of rumors indicating that the demons there were kidnapping the local women to mate   
with them in an effort to reproduce successful crossbreeds. While he never did get the   
chance to see them, it's been done. Lord knows, he'd be stupid to think otherwise.   
However, the thing that really makes him worried is what sets Imp apart from everyone   
else, including himself. It isn't the fact that he can do a successful Devil Trigger.   
Or that he comes from a powerful underworld lord. No. That'd be too naïve to think   
that way. But it's the fact that he is a winged demon... made of ICE that has him on   
the edge.  
  
Like the Frosts, he's made of pure ice. Ice... How can a demon be made of ice? How   
can that be? Aren't all true devils, dark or light, organic? Could Imp be just an   
upgrade version of a Frost? But wait a minute, though... Hold on... What was that   
thing he did before Devil triggering? He used that weird gauntlet, didn't he? Yeah.   
That's right. He remembers him putting a blue orb into that... THING... and it somehow   
activated. Shortly after, those weird tentacles popped out and Imp transformed. Just   
what IS that gauntlet and what is it capable of doing? Is it the source of Imp's   
Devil triggering?   
  
Also unlike many demons, he notices these weird and long tentacles extending from Imp's   
back, moving slowly with a life of their own. Each of the tentacles contains a glowing   
blue ball at their tips, pumping in and out like a heartbeat. They're about the only   
things fleshy throughout Imp's stone hard body. Somehow, they don't appear as innocent   
as they look. They must be there for a purpose.  
  
Dante continues to study Imp's overall appearance. He'll admit it right here and now,   
Imp has traits that signify power and strength. Not strange, considering that he comes   
from a powerful Devil. Nothing about Imp resembles the man he was just a few minutes ago   
either. About the only thing he can consider truly 'human' would probably be the shape of   
the body. That's it. Nothing else. And even then, the overall look of Imp's body appears   
awkward.  
  
"Well?" he hears Imp inside his mind, voice full with humor. "Like what you see, devil   
boy? Do you think I'm model material? Do you think I can make that Russell Crowe guy   
run for his money? Ain't I the handsomest devil in the world, don't you think?"  
  
"How...?" Dante whispers, addressing two different things at the same time.  
  
"We're demons, man," Imp mentally replies and flies a bit lower so that Dante can get a   
good look of him. His wings flap and the wind turns even more chilling. "We're brothers   
an' sisters, much like humans are. We're one in the same."  
  
"I'm NOTHING like you," replies Dante with conviction.  
  
"If you say so, devil boy. But if you weren't, then how can you hear me right now? In   
fact, how were you able to hear all the demons you confronted back on Mallet Island? We're   
all connected, you see. Each of us is intertwined to create a form unlike any other. We   
might have different stuff we dig, yeah, but we all come from the same brew too."  
  
"Say what you will, Imp, but I ain't like you all."  
  
"Sheesh, Dante, aren't you the arrogant bastard?" Imp chuckles.  
  
Imp takes flight and twirls like a ballerina in the air, swinging Exxon back and forth   
high above his head while laughing wickedly. He mimics Dante's macho tone and posture in   
the sky.   
  
" 'I'm nothing like you'... 'Say what you will, Imp, but I ain't like you all'... 'Look   
at me, I'm better'... 'Look at my so-cool retro hairdo'... 'Check out my sword! My sword   
is bigger than yours!'... 'I'm too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts'..." Imp guffaws   
hysterically. "Oh the drama, Dante! I just LOVE it! You truly are a one-in-a-kind devil   
man! Excuse me while I laugh my ass off and watch you drown yourself in your own demise!   
Whoa! But you already have... Yeah, right! As if! Give IT A BREAK! Stop kidding yourself,   
man, and stop wasting time! You are who you are and you will be more than you already are   
when... Whoa! Talk about a sugar rush! I knew I should've lay off the soda before coming   
here. But wait, what about the 'self'? Do you know who you are? You'd better ask yourself   
this question because my old man will ask you this question at the end when he decides   
to... Oh yeah! Now I remember where I put my remote control! Is it a dream? Is it real?   
Haven't you learned your lesson yet? Crap! I forgot to turn off my car's lights before   
coming here! Damn!"  
  
Dante immediately lets a bullet from Ebony fly Imp's way, having enough of the man's   
senseless nonsense. He isn't sure if it's his personality or if he's high on something,   
but whatever the case is, he seriously needs to shut this asshole up.   
  
Imp stops talking once his demonic senses picks up the bullet. To him, it flies very   
slowly making it extremely easy for him to dodge it with his inhuman speed. After   
succeeding, he glances at Dante's direction in a bit of distraught.  
  
"Yikes, Dante, devil boy," he mentally says through the hunter's head. "I said stop   
wasting time, and-some-other-shit-I-don't-remember, but I KNOW I didn't say anything about   
shooting at poor ole' Imp!"  
  
Grinning, Dante points Ebony right at him. He shoots again.  
  
"Now you're starting to piss me off!" Imp exclaims as he flies from another bullet.   
  
He has to maneuver four MORE shots soon afterwards.   
  
"Asshole!" he starts to say, flying up and down. Left and right. Back and forth. "You   
meanie! You bad, bad, bad meanie! Mean, I tell you! You're just... mean!"  
  
"Good," a sly smile crosses Dante's face.  
  
He fires again. And again. And again. Each shot getting closer to hitting its target.  
  
Fifteen bullets later, and when he finally feels that Imp has had enough, Dante stops   
shooting. He lowers Ebony to his side and walks directly beneath Imp, waiting for the devil   
to descend and meet him at ground level.   
  
Imp blinks once he realizes Dante has stopped. His face appears serious. The purple eyes of   
his glow a bit, carefully studying the silver-haired man below. Something in his expression   
appears both surprised but regretful too. Yes... Dante really is as good as his old man   
told him, if not more. Sparda's boy has certainly grown up to be the fine man that he is   
right now. He is a collage of many things. He is a lover but a fighter. He is compassionate   
but merciless. He is the perfect balance of light and dark. He is EVERYTHING his old man   
always wanted out of him since the day he was born. Of all the children he had here on Earth,   
he appeared the most promising of the bunch. And often, abused. If only being Dante was an   
easy task, Imp thinks. If only that fucking dickless-bastard-of-a-father of his realized   
that his expectations are too high for even him.  
  
From nearby, Socrates gazes at Dante with an amazed look, having observed Dante 'play' with   
Imp. Mercy, Dante really has a way to put devils into submission. And Imp! Of all people!   
Imp! Imp never lowered his head to ANYONE. And yet, Dante has done the impossible. He has   
tamed the untamed. Amazing... Dante didn't even flinch when he fired at him!  
  
The angel slowly meets Dante by his side, seeing Imp begin to land on ground, his wings   
flapping once before folding back to a halt. Socrates' hand clenches onto Ivory, hoping that   
Imp doesn't have a trick up his sleeve.  
  
"Now you know how I feel, you piece of bullcrap," Dante tells Imp in a silent but deadly   
tone. "And if you think I'm 'bad' and 'mean' now, Imp, it's gonna get a lot worse. I'm the   
fucking reaper. I eat devils like you for breakfast and ask for more. David... Mundus...   
Siren... you... you're all the same to me. I know how to deal with demons that have   
something up their ass. So, if I were you, I'd play nice and I'd start by getting Trish out   
of there. Comprende?"  
  
Imp glances at the direction Dante points to where Trish's entrapped body remains frozen.   
He looks sideways at the frozen woman. At first, Dante and Socrates think that he's finally   
thrown in the towel. The look of seriousness is there, after all. Even for Imp, he's never   
been known to reveal such a straight face as the one he reveals to the two men. But pray as   
they may, a cocky grin starts to develop on the demon's lips, a grin that suggests the usual   
cunningness of his. That damn grin... it's practically a trademark of his.  
  
"Sorry, beer buddies," he tells his two male companions, trying not to laugh, "but I'd prefer   
for her to stay like that. I mean... she's so pretty and hot... I'd like to show her off   
when my high school reunion comes along sometime next year."  
  
Damn it. He just can't help it! He can't stay humorless for one second! It's just a part of   
his nature. He can't help it! And besides, it's just too glorious for him to remain serious.   
Fuck what daddy wants. He enjoys laughing at the object of his father's affection. Maybe   
it's jealously. Or maybe it's that pathetic little mind of his. Yeah, Sparda's boy may be   
tough. But the guy sure has peas for brains if he doesn't know what happens in a couple of   
days from now. Ha!   
  
"That's all folks!" he mimics Bug's Bunny's voice and blows out a whistle.   
  
Before Dante can make his move, the surrounding Frosts start to yell out a screeching sound.   
Each of them stands in a straight row like soldiers ready to do battle. One-by-one they   
extend their claws outward, making the nails longer. The sound of scraping metal-like   
noises fills the cool, icy air. Again, the demonic Frosts yell.  
  
Dante curses, seeing that Imp has ordered the Frosts to begin their attacks. He draws   
closer to Trish's icicle tomb, preparing to defend her as much as he can, regardless of the   
little voice inside him demanding to take Imp out.  
  
"Take care of Imp," Socrates says as if he's just read his mind. "I'll protect Trish from   
the demons. Hurry!"  
  
"How?" Dante asks, noticing Imp taking flight again.  
  
He sees three Frosts approaching. All three of them cause the air to turn bitterly cold. They   
literally FREEZE the particles within the air into place. In doing so, being made of ice,   
they enable themselves to glide through theses particles in such a fast speed that it looks   
like they're teleporting. The trio reaches the devil hunter and angel within just a second.   
They lung at Dante and the angel, mouths wide open with ice teeth hissing at them. Their sharp   
claws stretch more to make a clean swipe, hoping to chop off the flesh of their prey.  
  
Dante immediately raises Alastor to deflect the claws. While he successfully blocks and   
aggressively cracks two of the Frosts' claws into pieces with his sword, the third one manages   
to cut open his entire stomach. The devil hunter grunts and falls to the ground, looking down   
at the bloody mess. His body's healing factor instantaneously starts to recuperate the deadly   
and fatal wound. Patches of broken blood vessels, wet internal organs, and skin connect   
together to become whole again. Yet, regardless of his body's efforts to undo the damage done   
to it, the successful Frost leaps up into the air to already worsen the situation.  
  
A blast of light emerges out of nowhere, filling the entire area with blinding yellow light.   
The Frost pauses from its attack and breaks into a billion pieces.   
  
A part of the immense yellow light showers Dante who remains on the ground. His skin begins to   
burn and a spark of fire even ignites from the flesh of both his hands. He yells in deep agony   
as the pain escalates, his once light blue eyes flashing red now. He can literally see his   
skin starting to peel off. Jesus! It feels like he's about to go in flames! What's going on!   
  
The pain subsides, however, once a tower of white light rains down on him, surrounding him in   
a cylinder field that reaches all the way up to the sky. Comforting warmth instantly prevails   
over the intense heat, doing away with the pain he just suffered a second ago. His body slowly   
relaxes and goes slack. He lies flat on the ground, moaning softly as the feeling of wonder   
and reassurance invade his entire figure. The white light reflects off his body, healing the   
burnt wounds he just gained as well as the fatal one delivered by the Frost.  
  
Lying flat on the ground and still in complete peace with his body and mind, Dante slowly   
turns his head to his side, viewing the environment outside his cylinder protection. He sees   
the two Frosts that failed to kill him earlier plummet backwards by the lethally yellow light,   
not protected by the ray of whiteness over him. They hit straight to the Earth, causing their   
ice to shatter and immediately melt into the soiled and muddy ground. Numbly, Dante hears the   
screaming of other Frosts from afar and notices how they all spontaneously combust in a bolt   
of flames. He looks away then, gazing amazingly upward where he sees a large tunnel of light.   
  
Dante finds himself smiling. He never believed that anything could feel as good and pure as   
this. Not demon hunting. Not vengeance. Not other pleasures he also enjoys. Is... this how   
Heaven feels? Is this the tunnel of light those folks keep talking about? Did... he die? If   
only that were true. Then... there'd be no more pain. No more struggling. But most importantly,   
he'd realize that creatures of darkness, like his father, also have a chance to reach Heaven.   
  
His father... He knows that he died when darkness came to claim him. But don't all the good   
things he did with his life matter? Didn't he somehow gain admittance? Did he make it to   
Heaven? Is there really a Heaven? And if he dies, say, right this moment, will he go there   
too?  
  
Vergil... mother... They were both good people. He can't remember a time where either of them   
was cruel to any living creature. HE even thought his bro was a wuss at times since he always   
hated to kill such things like a mosquito or a cockroach. They deserve to go to Heaven if   
they aren't there already. Mater Christi, Dante thinks again very hard, they deserve to go   
there, damn it! It's not fair! It's not fucking fair that devils like Mundus or David can   
manipulate people's lives and get away with it!  
  
Before he can go further into his thoughts, the outside yellow light slowly fades away. The   
protective tower over him also decreases, eventually evaporating like water under a very hot   
sun. Dante blinks and slowly sits up. Silent.  
  
Dante recognizes this type of damage before. The light and the involuntarily self-combustion   
are all too familiar. Holy water. Yeah, holy water can do this to just about any demon. Spill   
it over him and watch the mother fry, that's what he's talking about. Purity, he's come to   
realize from past experience and battles, was always the best instrument against demons.   
Equally important was belief. It didn't matter if it was faith for a God, yourself, or for   
something else, nothing was so powerful than freewill and belief. Holy water is basically just   
water. Weapons are just metal instruments. Dreams are just illusions. Yet, all become empowered   
by the belief and faith of a certain individual, a belief that can move mountains. Faith in the   
self and faith in each other... these were what really mattered against demons and in life too.   
It was faith in love that brought Trish back from the dead.  
  
Holy water and other things alike never affected him. He is, after all, part human. While demons   
will die the moment a splash of holy water spilled over them, he always came out unaffected.   
Sure, there was numbness over the area it dropped on him, but that was it. Up until now, he   
never understood the agonizing pain the demons he's killed by blessed water underwent. He could   
imagine. But not understand. Right now, however, he does. While this isn't a case of holy water   
use, the yellow light inflicted as much damage as it would.   
  
This light... This light nearly killed him. If not for that ray of whiteness, he would've self-  
combusted just like those Frosts creatures. Where did it come from?  
  
The devil hunter stands up and abruptly hears Socrates moan softly from behind. He turns around   
only to notice the angel slumping against Trish's encasing. He appears exhausted. Worn out.   
Pale-faced. It's as if he just ran a marathon. Small beads of sweat form over his blushed   
freckled cheeks and his eyes are shut closed. He appears to be in some kind of pain.   
  
And then... it suddenly hits him.  
  
"Socrates?" Dante begins. "Did you do this?"  
  
Before the angel can give an answer, the two men hear Imp starting to laugh from above. Dante   
glances upward to see Imp, appearing to be unaffected by the yellow light.  
  
"Great..."  
  
"Go, Dante..." Socrates mutters very weakly and slowly opens his eyes. "Get to him... I'll...   
hold the fort here... and protect Trish. Just go..."  
  
Dante takes a moment, looking at him in concern. Whatever wing boy did, it nearly took away   
all his energy. In a brotherly way, Dante places a hand on the younger man's shoulder to   
comfort him, thanking him as well. It's been a long time since he's ever thanked anyone, he   
realizes, mainly because no one ever did anything for him unless they wanted something back.   
Dante soon nods. He knows what he has to do now in order to live up to what Socrates has done   
for him and Trish. He's going to beat the hell out of Imp and put a stop to this once and for   
all. He's going to take out that mother. With that, Dante puts Ebony back into his jacket's   
pocket while readying Alastor. He leaps up high into the air to perform his task.  
  
Socrates swallows hard as his eyes follow Dante's movements, soon wiping the sweat from his   
forehead and feeling a bit light headed. It's time, he thinks bitterly. Lord knows, he didn't   
want this to happen...  
  
Dante grabs a part of the tip of a very high tree, successfully reaching a high peak   
displaying the entire forest below. Carefully balancing himself on a couple of strong but tiny   
branches as well as being mindful of the wind that threatens his hold, Dante looks out for   
Imp. His white blue eyes study the environment, trying to pinpoint the menacing creature. All   
he sees is a sea of green below, coming from the bunched up trees. Above is a thunderous sky.  
  
"Wow, Dante," he finally hears Imp say inside his head, "You're a regular 'Crouching Tiger   
Hidden Dragon' man, aren't you? Or should I say, 'Crouching Dante Hidden Imp'? I bet you played   
a lot in the monkey bars back at elementary school too, huh?"  
  
A quick whirl of wind approaches from the north. The devil hunter turns and spots the menacing   
winged man behind him, his flapping wings giving his position away. Dante discovers a glow of   
blue sparkling from one of Imp's tentacle balls. The mischievous man flings this tentacle   
forward, sending a blue gush of light his way. Immediately, Dante jumps off the tip of the   
tree, sensing danger from it.   
  
The blue light barely misses him and Dante comes to see it completely freezing the entire tree   
he was on, right down to its roots. Putting aside a surprised expression, the devil hunter   
quickly leaps onto another tree, hitting its mid section in order to bounce off of it to reach   
a tree nearest to him. He works his way up, constantly moving so that Imp won't have a lock on   
him. A part of him laughs, amusingly thinking of himself as Tarzan, minus the annoying yell.   
  
Soon, blue darts appear everywhere, freezing anything it comes into contact with. Regardless   
of the serious situation at hand, Dante keeps his cool. He tries to reach the top again. Once   
he finally does, he swings to a tree close to Imp. When he sees Imp within a striking distance,   
he prepares Alastor.   
  
Even Imp is caught off guard by Dante's incredible velocity and determination. In a powerful   
slash, Dante jumps off the tree he's on and slashes downward with his sword. Instantly, Imp's   
left arm is cut off, sending spurts of blue blood squirting from the open wound. Dante lands   
back on a tree, held only by its thick branches. He stands clear of Imp as soon as he realizes   
that Imp's blood is just as dangerous as the blue bolts of light. They, too, freeze anything it   
comes into contact with.  
  
Imp just gazes at the loss of his arm, looking at it in both curiosity and dismay. He isn't even   
in pain, Dante finds. The look on his face is somehow calm. Patient. He can only guess that Imp   
is too much of a psycho to think about agony. Lord, his marbles aren't all in there...  
  
Imp's fingers from the only remaining arm gently touch the exposed iced flesh that continues to   
eject thick, blue blood. He continues playfully probing it with a finger, softly chuckling to   
himself and saying something too quiet for Dante to hear. A drop of blood spills on Imp's thumb   
and slowly he raises his hand to lick at it. He gazes up at Dante who sits crouched on the   
branch he's on, ready to leap and strike again. Imp raises the cut off arm towards Dante's   
direction, looking at him very pissed now.  
  
Dante chuckles, "Looks like you're gonna have to jerk off with only one hand now."  
  
"Wise-ass. Can't you see? I'm throwing you the finger."  
  
Imp flies higher. He moves the damaged arm to his side and suddenly a bolt of noise, like the   
sound of a thousand people screaming at the top of their lungs, is heard. Dante watches in   
silence as Imp creates an electrical force field around him. It takes the shape of a gigantic   
globe, protecting the mischief. Dante understands what's going on once he sees Imp's missing   
arm starting to extend itself in length. The bastard, he's healing himself!  
  
Meanwhile, ten more Frosts surround Socrates and the motionless Trish. The angel glances left   
and right, trying to see which is the closest one. He's still weak from invoking his Spirit   
attack. It can take out an entire fleet of demons, provided that they're within a certain   
distance. Unfortunately, despite its powerful damage it inflicts, the side effects leave him   
nauseated and disoriented. It just takes too much effort and will to summon up his Spirit   
these days. This might be because he hasn't used it in a very long time.   
  
Once he became an angel he learned that each angel had the gift to destroy all darkness with   
this power. It was called the Spirit. The Spirit was a part of everything living. It was a   
nonliving entity that existed outside the realm of Earth and was only called upon by creatures   
of light and dark. Of course, Dante calls HIS Spirit the Devil Trigger. Strange how each   
Spirit's abilities varies. Dante's Spirit can only make him transform, not invoke other   
extraordinary powers. Then again, Dante is half human too, right?  
  
Two Frosts teleport behind Trish while three others flank both of Socrates' sides. The angel   
grimaces but keeps his cool. He charges up his Spirit attack, allowing a swirl of mysterious   
yellow light to dance around him in circles. His hands cross each other, soon adding a glow   
of energy the size of a baseball. It grows and as it does the entire area fills with yellow   
light.  
  
Socrates points one hand towards Trish's direction and the other hand at Dante's. Beams of   
white light emerge straight from the sky, soon covering the two devil hunters. He has to be   
careful when using his Spirit, especially since both Trish and Dante are liable to spontaneously   
self-combust like the rest of the demons. While there are some human traits in them, they both   
contain the blood of demons. Trish is worse off since she isn't a crossbreed like Dante. She's   
pure demon in the form of a human. She's more than likely to explode than combust! His beams   
should protect them, even if it means invoking those rays of light and causing him to sacrifice   
a bit more energy than he's used to.  
  
As previously, flames engulf all the Frosts within the light's radius. Socrates breathes hard,   
knowing well that he's overdoing it. In fact, all he hears at the moment is the sound of his   
heavy inhaling and exhaling. He can't hear anything else. Not the screaming. Not the pain he   
inflicts. Not anything. Socrates breathes more rapidly as he tries to increase the length of   
the yellow light's radius. Yes, he's overdoing this task but he has no other choice. The Frosts   
won't stop coming. New ones continue to replace the dead ones, coming in greater numbers. If   
Dante or him can't come up with a plan then everything is all going down.  
  
He has to protect them, he tells himself. He has to protect Dante and Trish at all costs.   
Forget the stiffness forming at the back of his neck. He has to do everything in his power   
to accomplish his task. Strange how he feels weird, though.  
  
His Pearl of Heaven sparkles. Through the immense yellow light, Socrates instantly studies it.   
Yes... he could've sworn it sparkled. It glowed, didn't it? At least, that's what he's hoping   
for. Could HE be... looking at him again? Socrates' face grows soft, clutching the necklace   
again.  
  
"I'm so sorry..." he barely whispers, a small tear falling from his left eye.  
  
The thunder in the sky strikes. Another tear falls since Socrates knows the answer. It hasn't   
changed.  
  
In the meantime, Dante smashes straight down to the ground, accidentally letting go of Alastor.   
A spurt of blood shoots up from his throat. The cold and steel-strong tentacle wrapped around   
his ankle squeezes hard to the point where it's stopped all blood circulation. He grunts,   
angry with himself for being careless and so cocky. Imp is a strong man. He was able to   
produce another arm in a matter of seconds. Sheeit, Imp damn well looked like he wanted him   
to do that, the psycho. But it was his fault too, he acknowledges grimly. He shouldn't have   
underestimated this guy. The first thing he told Trish on their first hunt together was to never   
look the other way. Always watch your back because that's where your enemy is going to be.  
  
"Had enough, Dante?" asks Imp as he flies down to reach him at ground level.  
  
"I'm... just warming up..." Dante grits through his teeth.   
  
He eyes Alastor not far away from him. He thinks of shooting Imp for a slight distraction and   
going for it, only to realize that he's already wasted all of Ebony's bullets when he was   
playing with Imp earlier on. The gun makes a sick empty 'click' sound when he tries to fire a   
shot at Imp. Maybe giving Socrates Ivory wasn't such a good idea after all. Or maybe he   
shouldn't have played a cowboy moments ago. Damn.   
  
Desperately, Dante tries to get to Alastor, crawling on all four and stretching his arms to   
reach its handle. A jet of ice shoots down between him and his sword, forcing Dante to flinch   
back. The tentacle around his ankle starts to pull him toward Imp's direction. Aggressively.   
Dante struggles against it. There's no need to go for Alastor right now. If he can just tear   
this tentacle off of him, then he should be in the clear. Maybe he can do it with his   
fingernails.   
  
In an instant, Dante turns his nails jet-black and hard, immediately tearing at the flesh   
dragging him in. He curses when the skin of the tentacle doesn't budge. It's pissed strong.  
  
"You're not thinking of hurting me again, are you?" Imp inserts as he walks towards Dante,   
closing the distant between them.  
  
"No, of course not," replies Dante with ease, despite the pain around his ankle, "I wasn't   
thinking of hurting you at all. No... I was thinking more like smashing your brains with my   
fist."  
  
Imp glares at him with a stone expression. He allows the tentacle wrapped around Dante's ankle   
to tighten even more. Dante sucks in the pain and tries to confront Imp head-to-head by   
standing and running straight for the demon. Imp isn't having it, though. Instead, with the   
tentacle around Dante's ankle, he flings the hunter easily up in the air. A second tentacle   
from his back catches Dante by the neck and squeezes tightly as it lifts him five inches off   
the ground.  
  
Dante's face turns red, his cheeks turning blushed. In another vain attempt, he tries to tear   
the tentacle with his fingernails. As previously, it's to no avail. He might as well tear at   
a block of metal and concrete. His eyes roll back when the seconds add, robbing him of all   
oxygen needed to give life to his body. Imp is slowly sucking out his energy and nothing, not   
even Devil triggering, will help.   
  
Imp casually walks to him, pulling Dante in, drawing his tentacle wrapped around his prey   
close to his being.  
  
"Too bad, Dante..." whispers Imp ever so softly. "I guess you lose this round, even though   
you've won it at the same time, devil boy. It's a shame too. I expected more."  
  
"Don't you ever shut up?" Dante grunts, soon choking and gagging for air, trying to tear the   
tentacle from him with both hands. It doesn't work. It only makes Imp happier.  
  
"Dante!" he hears to his side unexpectedly.  
  
Socrates...  
  
"Let him go, Imp!" Socrates demands of Imp and clenches both his fists, as if to prepare for   
a boxing match. "That's enough!"  
  
"Or what, little guy? You gonna hurt me with that lighting special effect of yours? Why don't   
you take out an ad in Hollywood where they could use that shit in those action and science   
fiction movies with that old fart, Arnold Schwarznegger, in it? Yeah. You could make a bunch,   
I tell you. Because that'll be all that you're good for. You may have taken out my little army   
but you ain't got what it takes to take out DA MAN, nerdy dude."  
  
Socrates prepares to invoke his Spirit. He doesn't care if invoking his Spirit will lead him   
to go unconscious. He has stop Imp. This has gone too far. Yet, before he can execute his   
attack, Imp cuts him off. One of his long tentacles shoots up and sprays a jet of ice. The   
angel stares in horror as the ice immediately builds over his body, trapping him in.   
  
Dante grunts, trying his best to break the hold Imp has on him. Unfortunately, all he can do   
is watch Socrates' body become encased by the same ice fortress Trish is captured in.  
  
"Your turn," Imp looks back at Dante and gives him a delightful wink.  
  
The silver haired man feels his entire body abrupt in a sensation of coldness. He looks below   
only to realize that his feet have been frozen! The ice quickly works its way up, reaching his   
entire legs to his chest to, finally, his head. Imp's tentacles finally let go of their prey,   
only to allow the frozen substance to capture the devil hunter in its embrace.  
  
Despite his overwhelming and powerful strength, Dante can't move to fight. He soon feels numb   
all over. Great. Shit! He should've been more careful! Fucking bastard, he's going to cut him   
a new hole once he figures a way out of this ice. Imp is going to pay, the asshole!   
  
Yet, even with Dante's angry glare, Imp doesn't appear to be the least concerned. Through the   
ice, in fact, he can see Imp smiling with that stupid usual grin of his.  
  
"... feeling okay... devil...?" Dante can only make out, the ice preventing any noise to come   
through clearly.  
  
Imp sticks his tongue out on the other side, laughing and throwing him 'the finger'. Dante   
just blinks, angry but unable to do anything. Lord, have mercy on Imp if he gets out of here.  
  
The demon talks a little more. No surprise there since this guy is a ongoing dishwasher   
machine that can't seem to break the cycle. About the only good thing here is that Imp speaks   
so low that there's NOTHING he can understand. All he hears is the sound of an ocean echoing   
through both his ears. Not bad considering the alternative.  
  
Imp pauses from his lively attitude and shifts his focus to the left. This causes Dante to   
pause over the gruesome image he has in store for David's son the moment he gets his hands   
on him. Dante can't turn his head to view what's got Imp's focus but, obviously, it must be   
something important since that prick has finally shut up.   
  
A surge of electricity covers Imp's entire body. The ice-hard devil form soon disappears,   
replaced by a very human body. Imp's Devil trigger has finally passed. Even more, the   
tentacles that came from the mysterious black gauntlet have retreated back to its resting   
place inside the device. The blue orb pops up when the dragon opens its eye. Imp takes it   
and puts it inside a hole of the gauntlet's bracelet. Imp stares at Dante. Grins. Then takes   
out his purple glasses from his jacket, soon putting them on. Strange enough, Imp's clothes   
are intact. Without a scratch.  
  
The sound of an eerie howl is suddenly heard, even with the ice blocking much of its yell.   
It's close, though. It's terribly close.   
  
Dante continues looking at Imp, noticing that whatever it is, it has got Imp's full,   
undivided attention. Hell, his own demon senses are going into overdrive themselves. But   
hold on... there's a scent around here too, awfully familiar.   
  
Suddenly, he hears a humming melody coming from, what appears to be, a woman.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Imp snorts loudly outside his cell. Annoyed. "Don't you have   
better things to do?"  
  
"I'm checking on my investment, Imp," the woman replies calmly with a beautiful English   
dialogue.  
  
Trickles of pleasure runs up Dante's spine, his manhood strangely stirring and trying to   
erect itself despite the restriction of the ice. His head is light, as if he's falling off   
a cliff and feeling gravity all around him. These sensations... They all can only mean one   
thing...  
  
"Investment, Siren?" chuckles Imp, "That's a nice way of putting it."  
  
Dante sees a part of the seductress emerging from the left side of his ice cell. By her   
side is an exotic creature who slowly nears his cell. It looks like a wolf but its fur is   
colored the blackest of an abyss, seemingly shimmering under the light of the dim sun above.   
Its narrow and cool eyes sparkle with a bright green hue, looking at him curiously. The black   
wolf howls again and then scrapes at the ice with its claws, nails two inches long and   
extremely sharp.   
  
"Feral, calm yourself," Siren replies with a gentle smile, soon kneeling beside this enchanting   
beast and stroking its fur. Feral licks her smooth creamy colored cheek before moving away,   
soon guarding the area.   
  
Carefully, Siren stands up, her eyes a smoky cross between reddish brown and green now. Each   
time he looks at them, they seem to change color. Smiling, Siren allows Dante to get a good   
look of her, understanding the sensations that are currently running through his so-heated   
body. Mercy, his body feels like a hundred degrees!   
  
The devil within begs to have her, begs to be unleashed. His erection now wanting to release.   
It demands that its demon seed be spread into this woman. It desires this woman ever so cruelly   
in every sort of manner. There isn't anything he wouldn't do in order to have this beautiful   
creature beside him.  
  
Lord, no, he can't, he tries to reason in the midst of things. She's a part of THEM, he also   
reminds himself. This is all a trick of hers. He must be under her spell. Yes, that has to be   
it. That must be. If he can play his cards right, he'll get out of this ice and axe this demon.   
He has to. She's driving his body and mind insane!  
  
Siren playfully circles around his ice cell, a calm look on her face each time their faces meet.   
Even though the ice distorts many things outside, that face of hers still remains wonderful to   
him. Lightly does she allow her tender fingers to touch the ice as she circles around him and   
hums the same melody he heard her use back in the train. She moves and hums, very slowly. Very   
gracefully. Finally, after a few minutes or so, she stops circling and moves her hands over his   
cell, touching it smoothly with the palms of her hands. Siren closes her eyes, moaning softly.  
  
"C'mon, Siren," he hears Imp in the background, his voice in a distant and very quiet. "Leave...   
poor... alone."  
  
"Does... know...?" he can barely hear Siren reply.  
  
She moves away from his cell, opening her eyes, waiting for an answer from Imp. Dante blinks.   
His erection literally throbs on both sides of his ears. He tries to subside this physical   
reaction by concentrating on what the two are saying. However, the two talk too low for him to   
hear well. All he sees are their mouths moving and a look and feel of seriousness in the air.  
  
"He is..." he manages to catch from Imp, "David will definitely... pleased. I'm sure... won't   
have trouble at all... He noticed the... It'll only be a matter of... that he'll master it."  
  
Damn it. What did Imp just say?  
  
"It's kind of weird... doesn't know what happens... three days from... can you believe that?"   
shakes Imp's head, grinning. "For a tough... he sure... pretty stupid."  
  
"Don't talk like that about him!" Siren demands. "He'll... everything... time. And it happens...   
two days from today, you idiot. Not three."  
  
"Oh-well-excuse-me-Miss-Genius-of-the-Universe!"  
  
Siren gives Imp a very cold glare. He reacts by rolling his eyes and turning away, soon tapping   
his left foot on the ground. His back facing her. Feral, nearby, growls at the irritating noise   
he makes. A quick glance of Feral's sharp and metal teeth forces Imp to stop. He scoffs and   
decides to clean his glasses with his jacket to keep from getting bored.  
  
Meanwhile, Siren decides to return her attention to the object of her affection. The seductress   
places a hand on Dante's cell again. When she speaks, her words come through clear and loud   
enough for Dante to understand. Once more, she hums her beautiful melody to him as she talks,   
her eyes full with devotion and admiration.  
  
"He's so beautiful," she softly murmurs and passionately kisses the ice where Dante's lips lie   
trapped beneath. If only she could feel his warmth! If only she could fully claim him! "He's   
just as beautiful as David told me."  
  
"Whatever," this comes from Imp who continues wiping his glasses. Harder now.  
  
"It is just as he promised," continues Siren who seems in a daze, looking but not really   
looking at Dante. Daydreaming instead. "I never knew this could be real until I saw his face.   
His eyes. His soul. In time, everything will fall into place. It is like a dream come true to   
me."  
  
"Yeah," snorts Imp sarcastically, "Whoopee-fucking-do."  
  
"Imagine the possibilities. I shall have the son of Sparda as my husband. I shall have the   
happiness that I have always wanted."  
  
"Uh-huh. Sure, whatever you say, Siren. Be sure to invite me to the wedding," a short pause.   
"Not!"  
  
"My love for him will be eternal. I will NOT let this divine love slip by my fingers. I will   
be his to command and he will be mines to command. I will do everything in my power to make   
him love me back."  
  
"I'm crying my eyes here. Honest, can't you see? Oh, wait, that could just be one of those   
eye boogers causing my eyes to leak or maybe an eyelash. Don't know yet."  
  
"He will be my charming prince and I will be his princess and together, we will love each   
other as I've always dreamt in my dreams. Yes. We will love each other. We will be happy."  
  
"And I will puke since you talk as much as I do!"  
  
"I can't wait until we make love. I can't wait for the touch of his hand on my body..."  
  
"Enough!" Imp cuts her off and finally turns around to face her, hands frustratingly pulling   
out his long hair. "I've had ENOUGH! Gross! Totally gross, I tell you! Christ, Siren, why   
don't you keep your sick fantasies and thoughts to yourself, you pervert!"  
  
"There is nothing irregular about physical bonding, my dear Imp. Maybe you would not be so   
much of a biased man if you delighted yourself in this activity as well. Dare may I ask, do   
I sense jealously here?"  
  
"Whatever," he smirks and starts to sing a melody of his own in a very flat note. " 'Siren   
and Dante, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G'... C'mon, Siren. Give me a break, you hear?"  
  
Siren glances at him, slightly concerned and slightly curious. She takes a step forward to   
him, gazing at him with a warm and understanding face. "Why, Imp... you really ARE jealous."  
  
"Jealous? JEALOUS?" rages the dark haired man and points at Dante's direction. "Jealous of   
THAT? Ha! You've got to be kidding! I ain't got nothing to be jealous over, Siren, girl! It's   
a shame that you don't know me as well as you think you do!"  
  
"I wasn't referring to Dante, dear," Siren inserts very quietly. "I was referring to the   
love I mention of."  
  
Imp looks at Siren for a long time. Hard. At first, it appears that he's about to throw another   
fit. But he doesn't. Instead, he keeps his thoughts to himself even though the pain on his face   
is apparent. Love? Ha! Who the fuck needs it! Certainly not him!  
  
"Let's get going," Imp mutters to his companion. "Dante has a long day ahead for him and we've   
got a job to do. It'll only be a matter of time before your 'lover boy' figures it out."  
  
"All right..." replies Siren very sad. "But allow me to do as David ordered of us."  
  
She approaches Dante again. Concerned. In love. Directly behind her, Imp nods in satisfaction   
and unveils a sharp metal object from his purple jacket's pocket. He hands the small device to   
Siren who, in turn, takes it.  
  
Dante squints his eyes, trying to see what the object in her hand is but the irregularly shaped   
ice covering him makes the image seriously faint.   
  
Abruptly, however, he feels something extremely sharp pinch his right arm's wrist. The devil   
hunter looks down as far as his eyeballs can let him. He can see the upper tip of the   
mysterious object piercing straight into the ice and to his wrist. He can literally feel one   
of his wrist's veins burst, feeling something wet spill on his palm. Blood? Just what are   
they doing to him? What are they injecting into him?  
  
"I'll see you again, Dante," Siren purrs sensually to him. "I swear it. Now, go to sleep.   
You're going to need all your strength."  
  
Dante feels his eyes grow heavy once Siren speaks something in an alien language that he   
knows he should be familiar with. Her words echo through him like a lullaby, making him   
extremely sleepy. His world turns black and all he can see is a trace of Siren's face.   
Smiling. Meanwhile, Feral howls.  
  
  
  
It's beautiful here. The sky is bright. Cool. Bright blue. The sky is DEFINITELY fair today.   
What was it he said to Trish when they escaped from Mallet Island? Oh, yeah. 'The sky is   
fair. It'll always be over people's heads, no different.' At this moment, it truly is a   
remarkable sight to observe with such innocent eyes. It stares down at him in its wonderful   
gaze, as if inviting him in to this world. It nearly grasps him so tightly that he's left   
breathless and in a daze, heart pumping fast and head spinning. The white clouds above calmly   
move about. They drift off slowly, without a care in the world. Sometimes they remain still   
but most of the times they transform into different shapes. If he looks closely, he can almost   
swear that he sees his mother and brother among them. Both of them looking down at him. Smiling.   
Greeting him.  
  
Man, he feels so good right now. No. Scratch that. He feels fucking GREAT! He can't ever   
remember feeling this good in his entire life. Hell, it makes sex like a joke! His mind is   
clear. The pain's gone. Everything seems all right and all good. Gone are his everyday problems.   
Fears. Frustration. Questions. In their place are the good times. He doesn't even feel so   
trapped in life as he usually does. It's as if... a blanket just pulled over him, covering him   
from all of life's regrets. All he feels right now is bliss and content... all at the same time.   
Heaven forbid, can he actually be... happy?  
  
He feels a cool breeze brush against his face. He feels the warmth of the sun. He feels...   
life for the first time. And it's beautiful. It's truly beautiful...  
  
Dante smiles, allowing the wonderful moment to rest beside him. His lean and hard body is lay   
out, flat on a field of extremely bright red roses that whisper loving words to him. He closes   
his eyes, hearing them, WANTING to hear them. I love you, they say to him. You are my world.   
You are my everything. I am yours. You are mines. We will be together as one. I love you. His   
naked fingers gently touch their petals, reaching out to them in the same way. He doesn't care   
that several of their thorns prick his fingers, for he doesn't have a care in the world   
remember?  
  
Surrounding him and those roses are grass green trees that stand proud and healthy. Each of   
them bends slightly toward Dante's direction, lifting their branches upward as if to praise him;   
as if he were their king and they were his servants. On each of their branches collages of   
brightly colored flowers consume. Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. Violet. Orange. It's as if the Holy   
One painted a landscape here with the stroke of his brush himself. Dante is too much in a state   
of bliss to acknowledge that each of the tree branches are old. Decayed. Withered.  
  
Dante feels something lightly fall on his lip. He opens his eyes and finds a small crystal-  
like snowflake resting on his mouth. Carefully, he takes it into his hand, observing it from   
different angels and interest. The crystal flake starts to evaporate in his hands. Before he   
can dwell over its loss, Dante realizes that several more snowflakes are falling from the sky.   
He looks up, watching them descend slowly and gracefully, moving with the wind and in circles.   
Thousand upon thousands more take the plunge and, soon, the field of roses is covered with an   
illuminating and beautiful whiteness. The sun shining off of it.  
  
Dante laughs as he stands up, watching the wonderful scenery in awe. It isn't cold at all and,   
yet, winter has come! He spins in circles; arms spread wide open to grasp as much of the   
snowflakes as he can. He feels like a child again. He feels the innocence of life drift over   
him, offering him a second chance at happiness. He spins around and around, letting the world   
become a blur to him. He only concentrates on the white field surrounding him. Not the roses.   
Not the withered tree branches. Not the evaporating snowflakes. Not the concerned face mother   
and brother make high above the sky.  
  
Suddenly, among the descending snowflakes from the Heavens, Dante discovers a white dove. It   
flies, trying to maneuver around the snow but unable to since it seems to be bobbing up and   
down. Its right wing, Dante comes to realize, is injured. There's bright redness over its clear   
white feathers. Blood. Dante stops spinning, glancing at the poor creature with sparkling white   
blue eyes. In wonder. He can almost swear that a tear is falling from his right eye as he   
reaches his hand toward it, wanting to touch it. Wanting to save it.  
  
"Dante..." someone whispers.  
  
He blinks and looks around, turning left and right to find the source of the person calling   
to him. Or was that just the wind? He doesn't know, nor does he see anyone else here. All he   
can find is snow and, strangely enough, a dark black raven.   
  
The raven flies in the opposite direction of the dove. It soars bravely and lands on one of   
the tree's branches surrounding Dante. In a vulture sort of way, the raven studies the white   
dove trying to remain in flight. Its cruel eyes glare at it coldly.  
  
"Dante..." the voice says again. Gently. Beautifully. Hypnotizing.  
  
Dante's face expresses a slight frown, certain that it wasn't the wind now. He should be alert,   
the back of his mind tells him. Be alert. But the roses, the snow, the trees, and the sky...   
they comfort him. They say otherwise. They tell him that no harm will come to him.  
  
"Dante..." the voice says again.  
  
The silvered haired man grimaces, not knowing where the voice comes from. In his head? From   
the field he's in? Where? Where does it come from?   
  
Meanwhile, the dove continues to struggle, continues to stay in flight.  
  
Dante takes a few steps forward, trying to locate the person also here with him. He can feel   
its eyes studying him from a distant. Once he nears the trees, it's then that he realizes that   
he's wearing clothes. But they're not his clothes. Rather, he's wearing a tuxedo suit colored   
dark red, a black rose inserted in the jacket's pocket. Curiously, his hands touch the velvet   
of the suit. They're not his. Lord, he'd hang himself before trying on a tuxedo. Yet, strange   
enough, he actually likes it. He likes the satin feel of it. He feels awfully comfortable in   
it.   
  
The dove starts to plummet... losing its will.  
  
Dante's line of vision catches something in white hiding behind the trees. His eyes narrow,   
realizing that there's someone there. Watching him. A woman.  
  
"Dante..." the wonderful voice sings, "Come here, Dante... I have a present for you..."  
  
"Okay..." he finds himself saying. Smiling.  
  
What? The back of his mind says. Why'd you say that? Of course you ain't going anywhere!   
Stay back! Stay here!  
  
"Hurry, Dante..." soothes the voices, "Come to me..."  
  
The voice laughs wonderfully. The concealed woman dressed in white suddenly flees from the   
trees. Humming a comfortable melody.  
  
"Wait!" shouts him and he rushes after the stranger.  
  
The predator raven watches in satisfaction as the dove continues to descend.  
  
Dante runs through the grass green trees, racing as fast as he can, the scenery surrounding   
him flashing rapidly by. The sun hides behind the field of red roses. The forest moves with   
life, breezing back and forth to motivate the lonesome man. The clouds turn slightly gray.   
The air becomes still and almost dead.   
  
Dante's heart literally rams inside his chest, pumping blood in and out. Soon, the silvered   
haired man finds himself gasping for air. However, it's more out of pleasure than pain. He   
enjoys this. He enjoys this... hunt. In a way, him hunting this woman appears to be half the   
fun. If he didn't know any better, she probably knew that. He soon grins mischievously. Poor   
girl. Poor little, naïve, girl. You've no idea how good I am, baby. I ain't never lost a   
hunt in my life. Never. Once I set my agenda out, it'll only be a matter of time before I   
achieve it. Run all you want, little girl, I'm gonna get you. I'm gonna get you...  
  
The trees, meanwhile, smile down at him. Happy. Pleased. When the silvered haired man   
reaches a dead end in the forest, the trees push themselves away from each other to create   
an open path for him. Without question, Dante enters it and soon finds himself near a   
waterfall.  
  
The white dove finds itself down on the ground.  
  
"There once was a love that was strong to hold," the voice appears again, echoing inside of   
Dante's head. "Her lover was handsome, sweet, and bold..."  
  
Dante carefully crosses the river stream by walking on top of the large exposed rocks,   
hearing that BEAUTIFUL melody sing to him. Oh that song! He thinks. That song! It's so   
beautiful! He has to find her... He has to hunt her down! She'll be his! Yes! She will be!  
  
"Then, alas, a storm had come with the ring of a bell," the melody continues, "It stole him   
away and damned her to hell..."  
  
The raven flies off its nesting place, toward the white dove. It will claim it now, it will   
be the powerful of the two now.  
  
His legs slightly ache as he pushes forward. He is a mad man running to meet his destiny as   
it seems. He cares little for the voice that beacons for him to stop and think, threatening   
to collapse if not obeyed. But Dante doesn't comply. His concern lies in finding the woman,   
the woman he desires to hunt down and call his trophy girl. He damn well knows that lust is   
a sin, but it's only human to forget that, right? What harm can be done if he has her? Fuck   
her? Isn't it in human nature to bond with the animal in us all? Can't we have the right to   
give into our desires? What can 'reason' do to subside the devil that is already found in   
everyone? It's in human nature, damn it! It's not his fault! He's not to blame for this!  
  
The silvered haired man finally reaches the other side of the river, running desperately to   
the voice. Despite all better 'reason', he continues forth, searching and resuming the hunt.   
He can sniff her out. Oh, that beautiful scent of hers... He can smell it. He can taste it!   
In a short matter of time, she'll be his.   
  
Dante hears the voice again and follows its melody. The lullaby appears to be coming near   
the waterfall.   
  
He chuckles to himself. Thinking. Yeah. This was easy. This was too fucking easy. How easy?   
Too easy. Yes, really easy. Really, REALLY easy. Ha!  
  
Without a care in the world, Dante strolls to the melody's location, hearing the sweet woman   
continue to sing. She'll be his, he insanely keeps repeating to himself. She'll be his.   
She'll be his. She'll be his. She'll be his. She'll be his. She'll be his...  
  
You'll be mines the raven appears to say as it touches ground, right near the dove. The dove   
moves helplessly without a will of its own. It lost it a long time ago.  
  
"She screamed and withered in deep terrifying pain, but her king promised her love and gave   
her a cane..."  
  
There she is, Dante realizes, keeping the smirk on his hard face. With a couple of casual   
steps, he walks to her like he has all the time in the world. He finally stops when he's   
right near the water. In animal lust, he marvels at the living and breathing masterpiece   
before him. His naïve, white blue eyes slightly sparkle. Hidden in them is a darkness he's   
continuously denied before. There you are... he says to himself. You're mine now, little   
bitch.  
  
A red haired woman dressed in a freshly made bridal gown looks lovingly at him. The bridal   
dress is extravagant, filled with pearls of white and rich silk. It moves when the wind   
twirls about, slowly. Seductively. Hauntingly. Her wild and blazing red hair rests exotically   
on her naked, vanilla shoulders. Part of it covers half of her face, somehow bringing out   
those smoky eyes of hers.   
  
The mysterious woman remains still for the moment, holding a pocketful of black roses with   
both hands. Somehow, she stands in the middle of the river with her bare delicate feet, not   
falling in. As far as Dante can tell, there isn't a reflection of her on the river, which   
is odd because everything else shows up. He abruptly frowns, however, when he notices that   
he, too, doesn't appear on the water. There's just a blank spot. Empty.  
  
The woman suddenly smiles, a warm and longing one. She decides to walk a step forward toward   
Dante's direction. The water ripples and sparkles as she does. Despite the water from the   
waterfall splashing down on her as she passes by its massive stream, none of it touches her.   
She remains dry. Untamed.  
  
"And now a new champion has arrived this wonderful day," the woman replies quietly and ever   
so softly, looking at Dante. "Ha, her love will be renewed and the bitch shall play."  
  
On that last word, the woman throws her black roses high into the sky. As they separate and   
descend back to her, she drowns herself into the water.  
  
"No!" screams Dante as he realizes what's happened. Immediately, he dives in after her.  
  
The raven dives into the flesh of the dove who shrieks in terror.  
  
Underwater, Dante hurriedly glances left to right, trying to see where his trophy went. Damn   
her, the mad man aggressively thinks. Damn her to hell! That wasn't fair of her to do that   
to him. No, it wasn't! He won her! Fair and square! That fucking-cock-sucking-cheating-whore!  
  
Frustrated, Dante continues to swim. Griping. Angry. It takes awhile for him to notice how   
awfully dark the water has become. Cold. Corrupted.  
  
It's strange how big this river actually is, he manages to think properly. From the dry land,   
it appeared small and... harmless. Now? Well, now his demon senses are shifting into overdrive,   
indicating danger nearby. Piss off, he tells the bad vibes he's getting at this moment.  
  
Stubbornly, he continues swimming. He can barely make out where he is since it seems endless.   
Except for several objects floating around him, it's rather empty here. Dead. And speaking of   
those 'objects' surrounding him, they're rather oddly shaped and huge, aren't they?  
  
The silvered haired man pushes his hands forward and back. Moving. Thrusting. Every ounce of   
him summons his strength, desiring only to find his trophy. He earned it, he keeps reminding   
himself. He earned that trophy fair and square. It has no right to drown itself, now, does it?   
He won it.  
  
Dante nears one of the large objects. He thinks of maneuvering over it to resume his hunt but   
the closer he gets to it, the more curious he becomes. Finally, fed up by the nagging   
curiosity his mind is consumed with, he moves toward the entity. The large, bulky object gets   
closer and closer. Assumptions are made. Confirmations are told. Details are discovered. And   
finally, surprise comes knocking in.   
  
Dante's face turns to complete stone. He has to blink to realize what it is.  
  
Bodies... thousands of bodies float lifelessly in this underwater abyss. Each of them is   
naked with large gashes found on their right wrists. Pale faced. Skin peeled clean from   
parts of their bodies, exposing the white bone and meat beneath. They are a misfit group of   
rotten flesh. Motionless, like the water that embraces them lovingly. The light from above   
the surface showers over them, creating eerie and twisted shadows over their frozen faces.   
  
The corpse nearest to Dante drifts a bit to him. Its eyes are gorged off and a large gap is   
seen where its heart is supposed to be. And yet, no blood. No look of agony in its grotesque   
features. If anything, it smiles. Laughing. Laughing at him.  
  
Dante's face turns pale. Immediately, he attempts to move away from it since the other corpses   
appear to be FLOATING toward his direction, surrounding him! As Dante desperately moves to   
leave this awful place, the corpse still near him tilts a little to the left. It reveals an   
awkward configuration on its right forearm.   
  
The symbol contains three outlined circles. Each on top of the other. One of the circles is   
large. The second one (a medium sized circle) sits inside the large circle and the third oval   
(the smallest of the three) rests inside the medium sized circle. Deep inside the small one,   
there lies a tiny point where several outlined arrows emerge from it, each pointing at all   
directions. North. South. East. West. Northeast. Southeast. Northwest. Southwest.  
  
As the other corpses close in into his position, Dante comes to discover that they ALL wear   
this mark. What does it mean? Suddenly, he catches sight of a woman dressed in a bridal   
gown. She's beyond the pack of corpses, drifting away. In fact, she doesn't look like she's   
swimming at all. She's floating lifelessly. Mother of mercy, could his trophy be dead   
already?  
  
The devil hunter shifts his body to swim to the body dressed in vanilla. The pack of corpses   
creates an obstacle for him, however. They surround him in all directions, their hands   
sticking out, as if to reach him. Angry, Dante pushes them off of him. No longer does his   
body fill with fright but with a terrible heat of hatred.   
  
A fast glimpse to his left and he sees that his trophy is far away. If he could, he'd curse   
at these rotting bodies for preventing him from reaching it. They're seriously pissing him   
off now. With one hefty push, the hunter manages to thrust away the two bodies on him.   
Seeing an opening, he swims as fast as he can before the rest of the corpses can close the   
gap.   
  
Meanwhile, the white dove tries to flee from its capturer. It tries to fight back but soon   
sees half of its body soaked in blood. The raven shrieks in pleasure as it manages to peck   
out its eyes, blinding it. Blinding it from the truth.  
  
Dante starts to close in the distance between his trophy and him. He doesn't bother to glance   
back and see if he's left the pack of corpses high and dry. Hopefully, they won't be any more   
trouble for him. Damn bodies, he ponders hatefully. How DARE they try to stop him! If he could,   
he'd kill them again for doing such a mistake!  
  
Dante allows this hate to drive him harder and faster to the body trying to escape him. He'll   
be damned if this will be his first time losing a hunt. So help him, he'll get that bitch.  
  
"No..." a voice abruptly whispers to Dante inside his head, almost causing him to pause.   
  
It's a man's voice. Deep. Calm. It's familiar to him but for some reason he can't remember   
who the voice belongs to.   
  
"Turn around, Dante... Let her go. Let her die..."  
  
No, if I do that then I won't be able to claim my trophy.  
  
"Let her go... Let her die."  
  
No!  
  
More determined now, Dante uses all his might. He reaches within a meter away of the drifting   
white body. Then a couple of feet. Finally, inches. An exposed ankle from the body is the   
closest body part to him. His hands reach out to grab it. While he's able to successfully wrap   
a hand around the ankle, a current appears. He accidentally lets go and the body moves away   
from him again. No!  
  
"Turn around, Dante..." a man's voice says. "Let her go... Let her die."  
  
Fuck off! Whoever you are, fuck off!  
  
"You know me, Dante... You know who I am... Listen to me... Let her go. Let her die."  
  
The white dove screams its final breath, flapping its wings as it convulses.  
  
Dante makes another attempt at the ankle. The tips of his fingers lightly make contact.   
Aggressively he lungs forward and, without daring to let this chance go by, he pushes himself   
forward to grab the entire ankle. Success! Eagerly, he pushes the lifeless body toward him.   
He has it! He has his trophy! He's won! He's finally claimed it!   
  
Pleased by his victory, Dante proceeds to turn the white dressed figure around to face him,   
ready to tell it that he's claimed it. His mouth opens to scream as a bolt of realization hits,   
as his humanity finally begins to return to his soulless body.   
  
But it's too late. The white dove is already dying. Its heart taken out now. The raven, it   
appears, seems to be the stronger of the two...   
  
Water fills Dante's lungs, not enabling him to scream at the face he sees stare right back at   
him. Trish's dead eyes lock onto his...  
  
Her features are cold. Frozen in place. Eyeballs are rolled back, in agony. Purple lips,   
closed. She has the face of a person who has finally met her fate. There's a long black ribbon   
tied around her neck. Dante doesn't dare touch it since he feels nauseated just looking at it.  
  
The pack of corpses begins to drift toward Dante's direction, surrounding him with a vengeance.   
But Dante doesn't care. He doesn't care anymore. He came into this world without a care and so,   
he'll leave it just like that. He pulls Trish's bloody corpse close to him, wanting to breath   
life into her, wanting to shelter her. Wanting forgiveness. He is given neither. Instead, he   
rewarded with horror. His eyes widen in shock when Trish's mouth suddenly opens. A spew of blood   
vomits out, quickly contaminating the water. In mere minutes, Trish's blood paints the entire   
area into a sick red hue.   
  
The corpses jerk to life, screaming horrible sounds to their prey. What began with Dante being   
the hunter now ends with him being the hunted. Dante starts to swim, dragging Trish along. He   
stops the moment he sees the ribbon tied around Trish's head unravel itself. Trish's head falls   
off. Before the silvered-haired man can claim her head the corpses grab him. He continues to   
struggle to break free but...  
  
It's too late. The raven has done its damage. Now, the white dove, the sweeter of the two is   
dead. Things will never be the same again.  
  
Dante's lungs fill with water and he feels like he's going to pass out. He sees Trish's   
headless body drifting off. Moving. Fading away. He no longer has the strength to fight them.   
He no longer has the strength to fight his inner demons.   
  
The corpses begin to pull. Dante's limbs are broken. His blood mingles with the crimson color   
that surrounds him. Flesh is torn. Souls are broken.  
  
"No!" Dante manages to scream, but only a gurgle sound emerges from his mouth.  
  
Their arms continue to pull at him, tearing him apart until he, too, becomes a lifeless   
object among the watery abyss...  
  
  
  
  
"Get off me, bastards!" screams Dante and pushes the hands touching his shoulders.   
  
The hands try to push him down but he stubbornly refuses to comply. He kicks, thaws, and punches   
fearlessly, eyes closed and unwilling to see those rotting corpses. He doesn't want to see them.   
They're too ugly. Too evil. He can feel their arms again, moving towards his stomach. He violently   
pushes them away and rolls to his side, hoping that his enemies will leave him alone. He curls   
into a fetal position, legs pulled up and arms wrapped around them.  
  
A drop of sweat falls from his forehead to his extremely hot, puffy cheeks. He feels his blood   
boiling. Heat and exhaustion fill his body, consuming it like the virus that it is. Even his   
stomach is doing somersaults, constantly moving and twisting into knots. It causes something to   
run up his throat. Dante forces the vomit to settle back down. A bitter taste comes on his tongue,   
making him grimace. His body trembles from a sudden wave of chill. Goosebumps emerge all over his   
arms and legs. Christ, he's both hot AND cold!   
  
Once again, a hand touches him. It takes his right arm and tries to roll him to his back with   
it. Immediately, Dante jolts up and opens his watery eyes to finally see those awful corpses.   
It's not what he expected.  
  
He's on a bed in a room that is dark with the exception of a few lighted candles nearby and   
a window that is currently covered by a green colored curtain. A small nightstand sits next   
to him where several wet clothes lie on top of it. A bowl of cool and clear water is there   
too. It's old by the looks of it, like an antique. A few feet away from it there's a   
fireplace. It gazes brilliantly through the near black interior of the room. Tiny ashes   
emerge from it, crackling a bit in the midst of the near deafening silence of the chamber.   
They fall onto the oak made floor, bursting into thin air soon afterwards. At the corner of   
the room, he eyes an unoccupied rocking chair.  
  
Dream, he thinks suddenly. Dream. He just had a dream. Or was it? He doesn't know WHAT to   
believe anymore. Sure, he's had nightmares before, but not like this. Not this real. Not   
this obscene. He's never, in his wild imagination, thought of being so cold. Is this what   
Imp meant? Not trusting himself? Jesus... who was that HORRIBLE man in his dreams? The one   
who wore his same face? The one who talked like him? The one who had a dead mother and   
brother? It couldn't have been him. It couldn't! He's not like that! He's not like that at   
all! Was is it someone else? It has to be. Otherwise...  
  
"Jesus..." he whispers to himself and runs a hand across his hair.  
  
It's funny how sick dreams are. It's funny, that despite you knowing better, you find   
yourself entering a cave of untold horror. You know that there is danger around the   
corner. And yet, there you are. Going in. Knowing better but doing it anyway. In dreams,   
most of the times, you have no freewill. You just play along until something twisted   
breaks you to wake up. But what if that isn't the case here? Are these the things that   
play at the back of his mind? Can he be so cruel? Does his body possess a soul of dark   
potential?  
  
Drowsily, Dante rests himself back on the bed, thinking how quiet it is here, like the   
insides of a church. Lying, Dante moves his eyes left to right, finding the muteness   
of it all somewhat irritating. He can't remember anytime being in a place so silent as   
this. He never liked going to libraries or churches because of that. He always needed   
noise, some indication that the world around him was still alive and well. Not dead.  
  
Even though the back of his mind informs him of several life forms in here with him,   
he's too tired to pay any attention to them. He doesn't have the will to sniff them   
out, let alone fight them in this weak condition. He'll just have to hope that whoever   
is here with him will leave him the hell alone. He's just too weak right now to be any   
good.   
  
His drowsy eyes slowly shut themselves, illuminating to him a sense of comfort and   
warmth if he decides to sleep. Yet, he doesn't buy it and therefore, forces them to   
open again, using what's left of his energy to further study his surroundings.   
  
The chamber, itself, is made of wood. Oak. Much like the floor. Its grassy smell   
reminds him of the time when he and his brother went camping during the summer, sometime   
when they were, what, seven? Yeah. It's like he's in some kind of... log cabin.  
  
"His fever is still strong," a man's voice, heavy and scratchy, suddenly whispers in   
the abyss of the room. "He must be delirious."  
  
"Explain that to my sore face," another comments, somewhat in pain. It's another man's   
voice but by the sound of it, appears younger than the first.  
  
"Perhaps we should leave him be for awhile."  
  
"Look, old man, we ain't got all day to wait for him to wake up. He might know what   
the hell happened here, or who's responsible for it."  
  
"It's too risky. We might lose him to the fever."  
  
"And? So what?"  
  
"Hush, boy! Don't talk like that." A pause, "I think he is coming around..."  
  
Curious of the voices that currently whisper, Dante tries to sit up from his bed, face   
wet with sweat. Even his entangled white sheets feel moist. With great effort and a   
soft grunt, Dante props himself up with both his elbows, hoping to pinpoint the location   
of the persons conversing. They're not demons, he can tell. Thank Buddha. In fact, they're   
completely human from what he smells. Still, who are they? What do they want? And what's   
this about a fever?  
  
He blinks and frowns confusedly when he notices a large white cloth wrapped around his   
wrist. Small specks of blood appear to have seeped through. There's another white cloth,   
this time, over his forearm. Before he can uncover a part of it, he feels movement.  
  
Dante looks up and notices two shadows moving near a corner of the room. He attempts to   
sit more erect to get a better observation but his body hits the bed, having enough of   
the strain. Breathing heavily, Dante covers his eyes with the back of his hand, somewhat   
sick of the dull lighting in the room. Vomit creeps up his throat but again, he holds it   
in.  
  
"Damn it, there he goes again," the second voice says, irritated. "Let's do him a favor   
and put him out of his misery. There's no way he's going to recover with that fever,   
especially since we no longer have our medical supplies because of the attacks. We're   
wasting a good bed and water on an already dead man."  
  
"May the Holy Spirit forgive you for saying such things. This man is alive. We must   
treat him as such. Besides, I sense something different about this man."  
  
"Like the woman?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
There's another long pause between the two. Long.  
  
"Did you see it?" the second voice finally asks.  
  
"See what?"  
  
"The mark."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Do you understand what it means?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It's from HIM, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"I have no idea, except that this man here is related to the situation and must be   
given our full support. He is strong, I can tell. He must've been given the mark for   
this reason."  
  
"But, what if he's working with HIM?"  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"But how do you KNOW?"  
  
"His eyes. He is lost. His soul is lost. He has a damned soul."  
  
"Do you think that's why he slit his own wrist?"  
  
"It doesn't appear that he slit it himself."  
  
"Are you saying someone ELSE cut his wrist?"  
  
"I have my suspicions."  
  
"Forgive me, but I don't like this man one bit. If HE got through all this trouble for   
this man here, then this man MUST be working for them."  
  
"I don't think so. His lost eyes tell me enough."  
  
"But the mark!"  
  
"The mark..." a tired sigh, "That is another matter, my son."  
  
Dante uncovers his face, silent as to not let the two strangers know that he's been   
eavesdropping on their conversation. He has an idea what those two men are talking about:   
David. Strange, that they know about David. Did they have a run in with him?  
  
A part of his sight catches the injured wrist covered by the cloth. He glances at it for   
a long time. No, he remembers, he didn't slit himself. He ain't that type of guy anyway.   
Sure, there were days where he wished he couldn't live anymore. He even had fantasies of   
drowning himself to take away all his pain. But that was it. Never, once, did he take   
these death wishes seriously. It just felt like a huge crime to life and everything.  
  
Once again, Dante props himself up with his elbows. Steadily, he rises more than he did   
last time. Sitting hunched on his bed, he slowly gazes directly at the two shadows.  
  
"Who are you?" he can hoarsely mutter, trying to breath calmly.  
  
The two shadows remain still, as if caught by surprise. Dante waits for either of them   
to approach so that he can get a better look of them. Finally, one of them does. This   
one walks to the foot of the bed and stops. The light of the candles creates shadows   
and lightness on the man's wrinkled and slightly tanned face. He looks around sixty   
years old and has long gray hair, some of it braided with decorative braids. He wears   
a heavy and dark poncho over his large, but short body. His slanted eyes are a dark   
color that seems to look through anything or anyone, indicating to all that he is a man   
with great patience and history.  
  
"My name is Joseph," he says, more audible than before. "And this is my son, Natiche."  
  
The remaining shadow pauses before moving. Dante can only guess that this is the one who   
finds him very suspicious. Not that he blames him one bit. He has good reason to believe   
that he might work for David, with him being part devil himself and all. Still, he or the   
old man doesn't have to know that.  
  
After awhile, the second shadow finally emerges from his hiding place. He's young, probably   
around his mid-twenties more or less. He's tall too, with broad wide shoulders that accompany   
muscular, lean arms. They could probably break the metal of a car those arms! Unlike his   
father, this man's hair is cut short, trimmed like a buzz cut but with well defined   
sideburns that fit very nicely with the black patch of hair on his chin. He wears khaki   
pants and a white flannel shirt that is currently covered by a heavy brown colored coat.   
  
Natiche stares at Dante, in silence. If looks could literally kill, then Natiche would be   
a mass murderer. His black eyes are as cruel and cold as anyone can get.  
  
He's going to have to be careful with this one, thinks Dante. He's seen men like this   
before. Then again, maybe there's a valuable reason for this hostility. David might play   
a part in it. Who's to know for sure unless he asks? But before Dante can exchange words   
with the two men, the door leading to his room opens.   
  
A blinding shower of light enters from another room beyond this one. It forces Dante to   
shield his still-sensitive eyes. He hears the door close softly and then the sound of   
footsteps coming his way.  
  
"How is he?" Socrates' voice echoes into the room, softly and with great concern.  
  
Socrates sees Dante huddled on his bed, covering his eyes with both hands, not seeming to   
recognize him due to his cruel condition. Dante's face and naked chest glistens with sweat,   
his complexion somewhat pale. He doesn't look too good, Socrates notes while holding a   
steaming bowl of soup on his hands. Some of the boiled chicken surfaces as well as the   
carrots and seasonings. There're also several things he decided to add in, hopefully to   
Dante's liking. Knowing him, however, he wouldn't know what soup tastes like since he   
probably lives off of pizza and, well, beer. Jeez, how many boxes of pizza and beer bottles   
did he find when he entered DNC this morning?  
  
"The fever hasn't gone down," Joseph replies, returning him back to the situation. The old   
man turns to watch Dante slowly lie back down and shiver as a mixture of heat and cold   
invades his body. In a quieter voice he adds, "It seems to be getting worse."  
  
The angel nods, continuing to observe the hunter's condition. He hears Dante softly moan   
and sees him shift his body to face the nightstand. The sheets wrinkle and stretch when   
Dante covers them over his entire body, as if to shield away the pain he's feeling right   
now. Socrates approaches his companion's bed, soon kneeling beside him and offering the   
bowl of hot soup in his hands.  
  
"You better eat some of this," Socrates says, talking softly to him so as not to add to   
the pain with such loud sounds. "Drink the soup at least. It'll make you feel a little   
better."  
  
Dante slowly lowers the covers from his face. A ghost of a grin crosses his pale and wet   
features the moment he sees a familiar face looking back at him.  
  
"Thought that was your voice, wing boy," he inserts very weakly. "You're a sight for   
sore eyes. Mind telling me what happened? Where we are? How we got out...?"   
  
Dante stops. He shuts his eyes tightly and clenches his fists when his head starts to   
throb with an undeniable shot of heat, like someone taking his brain and twisting it in   
a tight knot. His entire back flinches backwards in surprise when a jolt of coldness   
follows. It runs from his spine straight to his legs, arms, and chest. His breathing grows   
heavily and rapid, somehow unable to gain the proper amount of oxygen into his lungs.   
Several of his arms' veins pop up as he clenches his sheets, strained by the ejections of   
heat and cold. He gives out an agonizing yell.   
  
"This feels wrong..." he barely gasps and moans out loud, "What is happening to me...?   
This doesn't feel like an ordinary fever..."  
  
"Careful, now," urges Socrates and manages to slip some of the soup's contents into   
Dante's mouth.  
  
Dante snaps his eyes open. Suddenly, the pain is gone. The hell...?   
  
"Here," says Socrates and places the bowl towards his lips for him to drink off of it.   
"Rest and drink some of this... Save your strength..."  
  
The silvered haired man looks at Socrates questionably. Did... did he take away the pain   
he just had now? He tasted some of the soup and then, there, the pain is gone. It was   
like he switched off a switch or something. Did the soup do that? He feels like asking   
him but he doesn't have the strength to. It seems as every second passes by he's running   
out of fuel. How long will this last, he does not know. He only wishes it to be over very soon.   
  
Dante gazes up at Socrates whose eyes reveal a sense of urgency in them, probably because   
he isn't drinking up the brew of soup yet. Soup... Man, he hasn't had that for a long time.   
He can't remember why though. Dante notices Socrates starting to sweat, the mist of the soup   
reaching up to his face. Reluctantly, Dante nods and struggles to sit up, agreeing to feed   
on the bowl's contents. He even allows the angel to lift his head up to slurp in the soup,   
even if he'd like nothing else but to do it for himself. He hates being cared for, anyway.   
He hates being the boat, having to depend on the air and waves to drift him along. He isn't   
a baby, y' know. He's a man who can take care of himself. He's been doing that since mom   
and bro went away.  
  
"Relax," Dante rolls his eyes as he drinks up, noticing the strange face Socrates makes,   
"I ain't as bad as I look. It'll take more than some prick to take me down."  
  
"Yeah, or so you say," replies the angel rather uneasy. "C'mon now, Dante. Stop talking   
and drink. Your body needs to recover, even if you are..."  
  
Dante immediately holds his hand up to cut him off. His eyes turn a little toward the   
two men also occupying the room. They appear just as interested in what Socrates has to   
say as he is. The angel, however, takes the hint and nods in understanding, agreeing not   
to mention out loud what kind of 'soup' Dante comes from. His lips keep sealed.  
  
Once he's had enough of it, Dante waves the bowl of soup away from his face. Any more of   
it and he'd be choking to death! Man, NOW he remembers why he stayed away from it in the   
first place. Soup tastes awful! Just awful! Awful, man! Sheeit! He's eaten better crap   
than this before! Then again, a humorous thought comes across his mind, it could just   
be Socrates has a bad cooking habit. That'll explain that nasty flavor he just tasted   
right now. Socrates, please, don't quit your day job, man. In fact, stay the hell away   
from the kitchen as FAR as you can.  
  
As Socrates places the bowl on the nightstand, Dante studies the two silent men across   
his bed. The young one, Natiche, still observes him as if he were David himself. He's as   
hostile as ever. In fact, while he was suffering from the pain just moments ago, he   
could've sworn that boy was smiling. Dante glances at the older man next to him. Joseph,   
on the other hand, seems more understanding. Compassionate.  
  
"So who are you two anyway?" he asks, addressing ONLY him.  
  
"These are the Apache Indians that live here in the reservation I told you about," answers   
Socrates, smiling because of his vast knowledge of everything.  
  
Dante gives the angel an annoyed look. "I was asking him, wing boy."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"What is there to know of us?" the old man acquires and takes a step forward, piercing   
Dante's eyes with his own.  
  
"For one, how did you get us out of the ice?"  
  
"Ice?" Joseph frowns, "What ice?"  
  
"The ice we were trapped in," he explains and looks at Socrates. He returns his gaze back   
at the older man. "All of us were covered by it."  
  
Joseph slowly shakes his head. "No. When we found you, all three of you were unconscious,   
resting near the edge of the river."  
  
"But..." the devil hunter starts, puzzled. "That's... that's impossible... We   
were all..."  
  
Again, the pain comes. It shoots to the back of his head like before, this time, more   
powerful. He grunts and closes his eyes.  
  
"Impossible..." he manages to say before slumping his upper back against the wall behind   
him. "Damn, this fucking pain... Why won't it go away...?"  
  
"You need rest, son," Joseph replies steadily, "Your fever will only get worse."  
  
"No... I can't..." Dante struggles, "We're... we're running out of time and I..."  
  
Another agonizing groan comes from the silvered haired man before he can finish what he   
has to say. Socrates tries to comfort his friend by placing one of the wet clothes from   
the nightstand on top of his head. Dante smacks it away, too much in pain to accept   
anything. Nearby, Natiche shakes his head in dismay. He looks stone-faced at the old man.  
  
"See?" he tells him in a hard manner, only loud enough for his father to hear his   
thoughts. "I told you that he's done for. Look at him! The poor bastard is just delaying   
the inevitable."  
  
"Son... How can you be so... cold?"  
  
"Who gives a damn if I'm cold or not! We're wasting our resources on a man who we   
shouldn't even trust! We should've just left the three alone and gone on our way. We   
have a better chance in battling those demons out there than adding to our burdens with   
him and his friends. Who's to say that they, themselves, aren't like the others anyway?   
Aren't you forgetting the last we allowed strangers here?"  
  
"We must put our trust in the Holy Spirit, son. I feel that this is the right thing."  
  
"And I feel that you should reconsider, 'father'. We don't need this shit right now."  
  
"Mind your tongue, Natiche," orders Joseph, his voice growing hard.  
  
"Mind my tongue?" laughs Natiche out of mockery, "I'm over here talking about our lives   
at stake and you're concerned with my 'tongue'? Now who's the one that sounds cold?"  
  
Joseph glares at his son in a displeased manner. He might not say a word but his eyes,   
alone, speak a fearsome thousand. Natiche responds by scoffing out loud and turning his   
back to him. This old man is going to get us all killed, he bitterly tells himself. These   
three strangers are only going to make matters worse like the others that came before.   
It's bad enough that each of their people is being killed one by one by those THINGS.   
Now... Now he's taking three potential threats into the hearts of their very homes. Why   
can't his father see that all this white haired man and his friends will bring to them   
is despair and harm? WHY CAN'T HE?  
  
"Natiche," Joseph begins once he notices his son heading for the door, "Where are you   
going, my son?"  
  
"Where do you think I'm going?" mumbles Natiche aggressively, "I'm getting out of here.   
And once I find a way, I'll be out of this shithole too!"  
  
The door slams shut behind him. The loud noise causes Socrates to look away from Dante   
for a moment and straight to the old man's direction.  
  
"I'm sorry about my son's behavior," apologizes Joseph shortly. "He's a bit tensed about   
the situation."  
  
Socrates swallows hard, somewhat feeling guilty for having Natiche storm off. It's   
because of them that they've caused the remaining villagers here to be on their guards.   
After all, he didn't know what to make of it when he woke up, surrounded by people of   
beautiful dark brown skin. And then, suddenly, it hit him. The village. This was the   
area the Apache Indians settling in Arizona decided to locate their small tribe, near   
the mountains where their ancestors once stood proudly by. He remembers sighing in relief   
when he came to, thankful that they were still alive despite knowing that there were   
demons lurking about. But after glancing at the worried expressions by the people, he   
realized things weren't good at all.   
  
The angel hears Dante moan again, unable to fight off the heat coming back to him in   
tenfold. He kneels beside him, like a brother. He brushes back strands of hair from   
Dante's face.  
  
"Listen, everything's going to be all right," Socrates tries to soothe. "You'll see."  
  
"No, it isn't," Dante replies, rather disturbed and in agony at the same time. "Damn it...   
Trish was right... Everything about this mission feels so wrong. This fever. My dream..."   
  
My dream. He shakes his head, recalling the dream again. That dream, that awful dream   
he had before waking up. Christ... it felt so real. (Let her go... Let her die...) Trish.   
He can almost see her rotting corpse right now. Trish. Trish...  
  
"Socrates," he asks quickly, hating himself for not asking the moment he woke up. "Trish...   
Trish. Where's my girl, wing boy? Where's my girl? Is she still alive?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Socrates asks confused, noticing how paranoid Dante sounds.  
  
"Damn it, man, is she alive!" Dante grabs the younger man by the shirt and pulls the   
angel toward him, his eyes gleaming with frustration.  
  
"Yes, Dante!" the angel rapidly nods, somewhat shocked. He's never seen this side of him   
before. "Yes. Yes. She's... she's alive."  
  
"Where...?"  
  
"In the other cabin," Joseph answers very concerned. "Rest easy. She's awake but I'm having   
my friend look over her to make sure she is all right."  
  
Dante slowly lets go of Socrates who quickly slips out of range, still pale from Dante's   
unexpected outrage. Dante doesn't care and closes his eyes, soon breathing in relief,   
grateful. If he could, he'd give Joseph a billion bucks right now. Or maybe he could   
hunt down demons for Joseph for free. Yeah, he could give him a year's subscription to   
Dante's 'Kill-A-Demon-Anywhere-And-At-Anytime' special. Exorcism and witch hunting   
included. That'll work, he smiles.   
  
Trish, the back of his mind says in the meantime, she's still alive.  
  
"I'm in debt to you, Joseph," he tells the old man. Serious now.  
  
"No need to be."  
  
"No, I really am. I always repay favors done for me." He later smiles, "My name's Dante and   
I'll be at your service until I can give you back what you gave me."  
  
Joseph looks at him, his eyes carefully studying his. Joseph takes a huge swallow, as if   
preparing for a speech. "Then perhaps, you CAN help me."  
  
"Name it," the hunter immediately inserts, ready to comply.  
  
"The attacks. The demon attacks," explains the old man and shakes his head. "We're dying   
and need all the help we can get."   
  
"Go on," Dante nods to him, wanting to know the full story.  
  
The old man takes a deep breath. He walks near the window, uncovering the curtain a bit to   
view outside. The mountains stare back at him in a shallow glare. Cold. Hard. Joseph feels   
slightly disturbed and afraid. He turns to face the silvered haired man.  
  
"Three strangers came to our village sometime last week," he finally continues. "Two men   
and a woman. The woman attracted many of my men, seeing her as the most beautiful creature   
to ever walk this Earth. But I knew, I long well knew that she was pure evil. The younger   
one, with long and black hair was the same too. I knew. I knew that something was... wrong   
with these three, despite them saving one of our children."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yes," Joseph says and takes a seat on the rocking chair at the corner of the room. "A   
little one was wounded when a black furred beast attacked her. She nearly died but one of   
the men, the oldest of the three it appeared, carried her to our village."  
  
Joseph pauses, looking up at the ceiling as he slowly rocks back and forth in his chair.   
The wooden floor creaks each time he moves. The flames grow high in the fireplace. The room   
becomes even more quiet. Joseph doesn't pay any attention, his mind is currently replaying   
the entire event of the three strangers, able to absorb and retell every detail.  
  
"I will never forget his eyes," he whispers after a long time, "I will never forget them for   
as long as I can live. He had the strangest ones I've ever seen. It was as if he could see   
through my soul, reach into it and grasp it with his gaze alone."  
  
He exhales sharply. Then, looks back at Dante and Socrates.  
  
"Naturally, our people gathered and greeted them. They did, after all, save our little one.   
There wasn't a man or woman in the village that didn't show up that day. We even gave them   
a grand feast the day after, constantly telling them how grateful we were to them and how   
they were always welcomed to our homes." Joseph stops, smirking in disgust, mainly to   
himself. "Despite my better judgment, I ignored the strangeness I kept feeling when I was   
near the oldest one. I should've listened to my voice... I should've listened to the spirits   
that kept haunting my dreams, warning me."  
  
Dreams... Dante thinks uncomfortably again. Dreams...  
  
"You didn't know," Dante replies softly, trying convince himself as well. "You had no idea   
who you were dealing with. You're not to blame for what happened."  
  
Joseph glances down, wanting so much to believe that. He clasps his hands together. Tightly.   
His fingers tremble a bit.  
  
"Do you have any idea why they came to your village?" Socrates asks, wondering if Joseph's   
fully aware of the hidden gate to hell. "What they were after?"  
  
"No, but I know it had something to do with the mountains," he answers, a bit surprised at   
the red haired man. "In fact, the young man, the wild one of the three, asked me what route   
he should take to reach one of the peaks of the mountains. I ignored him and went on my way.   
The wicked boy wouldn't leave me alone, though. He kept pestering me for an answer. He   
must've enjoyed taunting me since he kept asking ME this question rather than going to   
someone else. And even then, even when I answered, the twisted man kept stalking me. He   
played sick pranks to the point where I almost had a heart attack!"  
  
"Imp..." mutters Dante to himself, perfectly imagining the prick doing what Joseph just   
described. He shakes his head and then addresses the old man. "When did things get bad?"  
  
"Sometime when they left, the sky grew cold. Snow would fall in the strangest of places.   
The thunder was constant and in our plains out there, red roses mysteriously grew overnight.   
I couldn't believe my own eyes when I started to see the ground begin to... bleed, as if it   
were dying from some disease. A disease, I've come to realize, that we've unleashed." He   
shakes his head, slightly afraid. "At first, we didn't think take these events seriously.   
We were all too scared to take action. But when some of our people started to disappear and   
we started to find them mutilated beyond recognition, we knew something had to be done."  
  
Joseph takes another deep breath, he clasps his hands more tighter.  
  
"Demons began to emerge within the forest, attacking those who dare tried to reach the   
mountains. My oldest son went with his fellow members, hoping to seek the three strangers out.   
By then, after I had a vision of them, we knew who was the cause of the distress."  
  
"And what happened to him?"  
  
The old man swallows hard, his mouth growing numb. "The day they went to seek them out was   
the day they returned... Each of their heads was severed from their bodies. Their heads   
were later found near the river which started to bleed blood just yesterday."  
  
The old man looks at Dante and Socrates very hard.  
  
"My father used to tell me stories of the evil held within these mountains. But much like   
my son, I did not believe the tales. Thousands of our people, many, many years ago,   
fought and died to battle the great evil my father once told me. They sealed its power,   
hoping for it to never be unleashed again." The old man blinks, now directing his   
attention to Dante. "During this battle, my father also told me of a man coming from the   
north. He had hair as white as snow. Eyes, a crystal blue. There was... this light coming   
from him. It was a good type of light."  
  
Dante freezes, knowing full well about this man he currently speaks of.  
  
"He helped them," Joseph says, still looking at Dante, "And in the end, they called him   
White Devil, for he possessed demonic abilities yet, used them for the good."  
  
Joseph walks over to the window. Again, he gazes outside. He sighs. He sighs a tired one.  
  
"And now..." he tells the two men quietly, "The great evil has awaken again... I feel   
that it will get much, much worse as the days go by... Each day always brings something   
of horror. I know HE is out there too. Waiting. Just waiting..."  
  
Joseph turns away from the outside scenery and gazes back at Dante. He remains quiet for   
a long time, unable to say another word. His eyes continue to probe, seeking answers and   
seeking hope. Dante can read more on his face, however. It tells of anger, frustration,   
and... fear. It's the same emotions that dwell over his own lost soul. How long can this   
last? How long can this anxiety overcome them? He can't remember a day where he's waken   
up to a new day, with nothing except minor problems to solve. Everything seems to be   
crumbling down, broken into small pieces that can never be united as whole again. How   
long?  
  
"You should rest," Joseph finally advises, voice very exhausted. "Your body appears to be   
doing better. More than I expected. Sleep and you'll recover even faster."  
  
Dante nods, but doesn't want to sleep. (The dream.) Still, he doesn't want to disobey   
Joseph's wishes either. After all, he and his people nursed him back to health. He owes   
the guy a lot, probably more than anyone he's ever met in his life.   
  
Dante watches the old man leave, a calm look on his face. When the door shuts behind,   
the hunter doesn't bother to look at Socrates, fearful of what must be acknowledged.  
  
"I guess this explains why everyone is so suspicious of us," Socrates inserts out loud   
after Joseph leaves, expecting his statement to invoke serious conversation from his   
companion. "I mean... David and the others appeared in the same numbers and gender. Two   
men and an attractive woman. Like us."  
  
Dante doesn't say anything.  
  
"We should probably look around the village after you get some rest," continues the angel,   
"You know... See how bad the situation is? We'll probably have to build defenses too   
since we're out in the open. It'll be easy for David or the others to run us through at   
this state."  
  
Again, the hunter remains mute.  
  
"And then we've got to get moving. We need to reach those mountains as soon as possible,   
prepared for the worse if David has planned an ambush for us up there."  
  
Socrates frowns, finally noticing this awkward silence coming from his companion. He walks   
near the bed. He's close enough to see the face that is currently bowed down.  
  
"Dante? Um... are you all right, Dante?"  
  
"I'm sorry, wing boy..." Dante says abruptly in a quiet voice.  
  
Socrates blinks.  
  
"Sorry? Sorry for what?" he asks, confused like always.  
  
Dante now looks up at Socrates, face filled with... shame?   
  
"For going out on you like that a second ago, wing boy. I know that I... scared you."   
Dante glances away. Uncomfortable. In a soft voice he adds, "I scare myself too   
sometimes..."  
  
"Hey, it's understandable," Socrates just shrugs and smiles, trying to brighten his   
friend's gloomy mood. "You've been through a lot, Dante, and I know that you and Trish   
are close."  
  
Dante keeps quiet.  
  
"I was wondering... Is there a relationship between... the two of you?" Socrates wants to   
know, smiling nervously, not knowing if this question is TOO personal for his own good.  
  
"Trish and I... We have an understanding of each other," a dry smile crosses Dante's face.   
"There's nothing more. What you see is what you get, wing boy."  
  
The younger man timidly chuckles, adjusting his nerdy glasses. He tries hard not to   
realize that Dante's smile represents an empty feeling.  
  
"So, do you forgive me?" Dante asks, his face serious as he glances at an empty space   
on the floor below him.  
  
Socrates studies his companion before answering that question. Weird, he thinks. Dante   
doesn't appear to be the type of guy to apologize for any of his actions unless it's   
really necessary. And this really isn't. It's just a simple mistake. Common for people.   
But Dante looks at it like he just committed a sin. Why is he so wrapped up on it?  
  
"Sure, Dante." He nods, a reassuring one. "Like I said, you're under stress. I   
understand."  
  
Dante simply continues staring at the floor. He soon glances toward the window Joseph   
continued to study throughout his stay here. His mind drifts away, caught up with   
questions and uncertainties. Socrates looks at the door Joseph went through.   
  
"I'd better leave," Socrates says, rather depressed. "You really DO look like you could   
use some rest. Will you be all right if I leave you alone?"  
  
Dante slowly nods, still in a daze, still looking at the window.  
  
"Right. Um... okay..." Socrates mumbles to himself, still hoping for a REAL response   
from the cocky man he met this morning.   
  
He waits. Dante remains the same way. Quiet. It's strange how his face is calm but his   
eyes are wild. Socrates takes a deep breath. Yeah. It's better to leave him alone for now.   
He needs some time to himself. He needs some time to... understand the situation. He's still   
got the fever anyway, even if he is getting better. Socrates goes to the door. He shoots one   
more glance at Dante before closing the door behind him. As he does, he finds that he can't  
get the picture of Dante looking weary out of his mind. Lord, what is he going through   
right now?  
  
Alone now, Dante sits still. He remains like that for several minutes, like a lifeless object.   
His eyes somewhat blurred, seeing something outside the window that isn't there. Mind wrapped   
up into sick, twisted assumptions and questions. He glares at the window. Harder now. The birds   
outside twerp and the chilling wind howls outside. Slowly and without looking, Dante reaches   
for the wrapping covering his forearm. Call it paranoia... but he has to know. He just has to.   
  
Carefully, he starts to remove the hand wrapping. Still not looking. Slowly. Undoing it.   
Uncertain. Somewhat expecting. His face remains calm when he finally glances at his forearm.   
After all... he expected it.  
  
The symbol he saw in his very dreams rests comfortably on his forearm. The same mysterious   
circles and arrows pointing at all directions. He doesn't need to know how it got there or   
what it means. At least not right now, anyway. But it's the mark all right. It's the mark   
Joseph and his boy were talking about. Most importantly, it's the mark of things to come.   
  
Dante blinks, imagining the circles becoming one, forming into a shape of an evil eye.   
Laughing up at him. 


	7. Destination to No Return Day 2

_Howdy everyone! Guess whose back? "DMC: Damned Souls"! Yep, it's been a LONG time since I've updated this baby. Like, say, two years! Well, fear no more, I finally got my writing muse to get off its butt and do this extremely long chapter. Whoo hoo!_

_First off, I'd like to thank ALL the folks who have reviewed my fan fiction, especially those that have stuck by me to the end! It means a lot when I get message saying I got another review. It means even more when you readers have taken the time to read my infinite long fan fiction and review it. Despite it being in present tense you guys have welcomed it. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you._

_Well, before I let you guys read what's up in my little insane world, I thought I should point out a few things. Some of you are wondering when Dante will 'transform' and I said in Chapter 8. That still holds as true so don't worry about, lol. I also wanted to remind folks that this is a rated R story. Meaning, there's going to be violence, harsh language, and, yes, even sex. Still, I've tried my best to keep it as explicit as any rated R movie is. So don't expect an uncensored Basic Instinct story, lol. Um, that's about it. While this chapter doesn't provide any action it does provide more clues to the ending so pay attention. ;-) And please mind some of the grammar errors. I haven't gotten around to eliminating all of them just yet. That would just take another two years. :-p All righty… so sit back and enjoy the ride. This chapter is the calming before the storm so enjoy it while it lasts. The next chapters are gonna be a doozy… :-D_

Chapter 7: Destination to No Return – Day Two

            Out in the open field of glistening white-bluish snow where randomly placed trees are all that accompany her, a lone woman gazes up at the massive structure of the vanilla colored mountains. She wears a heavy dark coat that reaches all the way down to her knees. White animal fur, most likely from a silver wolf, sticks out from the coat's collar. Likewise out of the sleeves. Her pale white face is partially covered by the coat's hood, creating a dark shadow over her attractive features. About the only thing viewable are her cherry red lips that are slightly parted, visible air coming in and out through it. Thick gloves cover both her hands, offering as much warmth as they can provide. The woman also possesses knee-high black boots, built to withstand heavy weather like this one.

The lone woman hugs herself with both arms to flee from the devastating cold weather, her eyes studying the architect of the mountains very carefully. Somewhere at the peak of them lies an evil of untold power. Somewhere at the peak of them lies… the beginning and end of time. She senses it, almost touching it with the tips of her fingers. If only she could do something about it. She might not be as powerful as Mundus or Dante but her will alone can move THESE mountains. 

Snow begins to fall and a strange red mist emerges from one of the peaks of the mountains, moving cunningly upward like a snake. Slithering. Devouring the sky above. Trish immediately lowers the hood from her face. She expresses a cross of surprise and acknowledgment. She glances up at the red mist. It's getting worse by the minute, she notes. It's just as bad as wing boy informed her earlier on.

"Trish?"

And speaking of wing boy…

"Trish?" he calls out again, a little bit in distress.

He's a few feet away, kneeling down and petting the pack of hounds bred to sleigh. He, too, wears heavy clothing to keep from getting cold. Boots. Gloves. About the only thing he doesn't have is a hood. Instead, a thick and long black scarf covers the bottom part of his face. Each time he moves it shifts with him. To protect his eyes he wears large goggles colored a bright neon-like blue color.

The healthy, bunch of dogs bark happily, eagerly licking Socrates' gloved fingers. Jumping up, tongues sticking out. The freckled face young man chuckles as he gets off the wooden-made sleigh, his boots making a crunch sound against the snow.

"All right, guys," he says cheerfully to the pack of dogs, "Knock it off, will you?"

The dogs continue to bark and leap. Socrates continues to hold the smile as he temporarily abandons them. He strolls over to Trish's direction, soon putting his hands deep into his coat's pocket. Sheesh, he never realized it could be THIS cold! Such an odd weather this is. It's not supposed to be this cold and yet, it's snowing and freezing well below zero degrees.

"So?" he asks her, briefly glancing back at the dogs and smiling even more.

Trish nods. It's a grave and dreadful one at that.

"It's just as you said," she answers quietly and returns her attention towards the mountains' peaks. "The mist has appeared again and it seems to be getting bigger. Jesus, Socrates, what the hell is it? And are we going to expect trouble from David once we get there? An ambush?"

"Probably," replies Socrates. His smile fades away. In its place is his usual intellectual look. "We can't escape the possibility that he might have his demons standing ready right now."

"Wonderful…" she says, using one of Dante's favorite sarcastic quotes when things don't go his way.

Trish sighs. Christ, why can't things be easy for them? Provided that they DID get the book, they're still left with the fact that David already knows what they're doing. Once they return, he could take them for all he cares. Which still brings her to the unanswered question: Why? He wants that book as much as they do. So why the hell is he intervening? Why not just let them find the book and THEN attack? Mundus sure would've done that. Something here doesn't add up.

The dogs begin to whimper when the red mist starts to expand more from the mountains. Trish checks her watch. It reads 7:33am.

"Let's get going," suggests a very grim Trish. "We still need to put up our defenses before nightfall, when the demons like to come out to play."

Socrates nods and the two walk toward the sleigh. As before, the dogs bark happily. They leap up and down. Despite Trish being demon, they resume their happy posture. Trish can't help but to grin and feel warm inside. It's funny that animals don't necessarily have to go on looks alone like people do. They can sniff out a good guy from a bad guy. Which reminds her, maybe Dante and her should purchase a Doberman for security purposes? It'll make their job much easier in future assignments.

The red haired man takes the rope and yanks it gently up and down, commanding the dogs to mush. In an instant, the sleigh Trish and Socrates sit on begins to move at an incredible speed. Trish puts her hood back on to block out the harsh wind against her face.

"So how long are we going to be in the past again, Socrates?" she asks at the very beginning of the ride.

"Well, time moves VERY slowly. Seconds here would be hours there. So I'd say we could be there an ENTIRE day and still make it before the eclipse in this time era."

"Really? How's that possible?"

"Have you ever seen two clocks by each other and ticking at the same time?"

"Yeah, I have."

"Have you ever noticed that every once in awhile, they don't tick at the same time?"

"Yeah, I've noticed that. Why do you ask?"

"That's because, if you pay close attention, you'll see that a nanosecond has escaped time itself," he explains, "Even as I'm speaking, time is 'skipping' a beat.  We can't visually see it happen or feel it happen. The watch or clock, on the other hand, can. Try placing two clocks together and watch them tick together. And then see them go out of beat a few moments later. What's actually happening here is that, for second or so, a nanosecond is being lost into the past. This is why we're able to slip through time itself. These lost nanoseconds give us the chance to go back through time."

"And we actually have a full day because of that?"

"Precisely. And with the help of Dante's Bangle of Time gadget, we can get a 3-hour head start too. Unlike all the clocks in the world, this special gadget actually loses twice the amount of nanoseconds."

"And the more nanoseconds lost… the more time we have in the past," Trish finally understands.

"Yep. Like I said, time in the past is slower than the time in the present. So with a full day and three hours, we should actually make it before the eclipse occurs."

"So the time at the past is equal to the time of present?"

"Yes. When we come back to this present, we should be here few minutes before the eclipse. And then… we'll see if we made a change."

"Great. Then we all should be able to retrieve the Book of the Dead without much time pressure."

Socrates momentarily pauses.

"What is it?" Trish realizes.

"Trish…" he glances a bit down as he continues to steer the dogs forward. After an extensive interval he says, "I think you should stay behind and leave it up to me and Dante."

"What?" laughs the demon woman in disbelief, "You're kidding, right? Of course I'm going along. Dante and I work together. Always."

"But the people here, Trish. They need protection," he explains and adjusts his scarf. "Who'll help them when David sends more demons out to the village? They'll be long dead before we can get our hands on the book. Don't you see, Trish? These folks need you."

"Why can't YOU stay behind?"

"C'mon, ME?" scoffs the young man, laughing at the thought and yanking the rope a little faster. "Look, Trish, I know how you feel. But you're more suited for this ordeal. You've been trained by BOTH Mundus and Dante to handle anything that might come your way, far more than me. Me? I don't even like swords!"

"But…"

"And besides," Socrates continues, cutting her off, "Dante needs me around once we successfully travel back through time."

"More than me, huh?"

"Unfortunately… yes."

"Why?" comes Trish's hard response.

"Because I'll have a better chance in locating the cloaked angel than you do. It doesn't make sense to tag you along when we're running on a tight schedule and have innocent lives that need tending to."

Trish smirks and looks straight ahead at the snowy path, agitated. Frustrated. Fuck. First Dante and now Socrates. What is she? A fifth wheel? Why does everyone make her feel like she's not 'important' enough to handle the big issues? Sheeit, why did she even COME here if she was going to be put on the sideline during the game?

"How's Dante?" Trish asks, hoping that by changing the subject she'll feel a little better.

"In good condition," Socrates answers. "I checked on him before accompanying you here. He was fast asleep."

"Was he tossing and turning?" she inquires, a bit concerned.

"Yes," behind his goggles, Socrates blinks. "Why?"

"It's nothing," Trish shakes her head and shrugs. 

"No, really, Trish… what is it?"

"It's just that…" she starts rather uncomfortably, "It's just that he's been doing that for awhile now. It's not like him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" she pauses. After awhile, she finally looks at Socrates. "Dante hasn't been his usual self these days. I don't know if I'm being paranoid or not, but he's been acting so different lately. It's like he's an entirely new person. Darker, somehow."

"I saw what happened in the train," the young man tells her, awfully nervous. "I saw when he devil triggered and…"

"Almost killed me," she finishes his sentence. "I know. But don't you see? He never was like that before. When he devil triggered he never was that… evil."

She lowers her head. Depressed. "I'm worried about him. It's bad enough that he still hasn't gotten over his mother and brother's death. He fights for them. And now this shit… It's this type of thing that can make anyone go mad…"

Socrates doesn't say anything. For some reason, he can't think of the right words to tell her right now. It is obvious Trish cares for him, probably more so than she does herself. If anyone would know him it would be her. Something's going on with Dante. Something very unsettlingly is happening. Somewhere deep down himself, Socrates feels guilty for that.

"You'll… you'll take good care of the jerk for me when you two go off?" Trish observes him with a sincere expression. "Right? Do you promise me that?"

A slight hesitation.

"Of course I will. I promise. And whatever happens, Trish… I'll do whatever I can to make things right for you and him."

Socrates smiles, grateful that Trish has finally given in to his idea of her staying behind. But a part of him still feels guilty.

Meanwhile, Trish doesn't add anything else. After all, what else is there to say? She wants to go but Socrates is right. The faster they get the book the better things will be. But… will things between Dante and her REALLY be the same again? She remains quiet, her thoughts numb.

Sipping a hot cup of fresh coffee with one hand and holding a second cup with another, Joseph stands just outside his door's entrance, carefully monitoring his people working hard outside their cabin homes. The entire land is filled with snow. The trees are covered by it as well as the roofs of the cabins. It's almost like a winter wonderland here. Normally when so much snow would fill this land there was cause for celebration. It was nature's gift. And for that, they'd eat. Gather together and share stories of the great past and accomplishments. Let the children have fun and play in the snow. Yes, when it snow it was a cause for celebration.

Unfortunately, this is not one of those times. 

Covered from head-to-toe to bear with the cold weather, several men and woman are busy at work, carrying wood and chopping down trees or making handmade weapons. Some of the horses they purchased months back are also being used to speed this tedious process up. Either they help carry wood or are ridden to get to an area within a short time. At one point they thought of using them as a means of escaping. But there weren't enough horses for everyone and they weren't fast enough to outrun a demon most of the time. They had bought twenty of them. Now there's only four.

Joseph looks over his people again. They all look like prisoners of war. The men and women laboriously work to survive. The red haired one is right, he thinks. They can't live like this for a moment longer. It's time to fight back and reclaim what was taken from them. No longer can they rely on hope. Now is the time for plan and action. May the Spirits aid them in their quest against the evil that has spewed at their very homes. They need to establish offenses and defenses than sit back and get killed one by one. It gets worse at night, with someone always disappearing only to be found later with whatever remains left of him or her. Last time it was a child. A child…

The sky above has turned gruesome somehow. Yet, to him and his people living under these dreadful conditions, this phenomenal is but a little indication for the worse things to come. He can feel it come. The Spirits told him so when he slumbered just yesterday. He heard the wolves howl loudly and the sound of screaming in a distant, the cries from his warriors and people. Yes. IT is coming. The great evil HAS awakened and like his ancestries before him he must do all that he can to prevent this plague from reaching the outside of their homes.

"Not true!" he hears a child's voice squeal nearby.

A pack of children stand near a waterwheel that currently stands still. The unexpected cold weather has caused the water to freeze. The wheel, itself, has frozen into place as well, unable to move at all. Three boys and a girl remain there, currently involved in an argument of some sort. They all range from age six to ten, each carrying with them a youthful yet curious face. The three males appear to be of the same height but the girl isn't. She's much smaller than them. She pouts, her tiny hands clenched into fists.

"Not true!" she says in her native tongue again, her face growing into a frown. "Stop telling me lies!"

"But it's true!" one of the boys replies with an evil grin on his face. "She always goes after little girls. It's even said that the witch EATS them afterwards."

"Not true!"

"She flies across the sky," another inserts, spreading his arms far away from himself and pretending to glide with them. "The witch watches for little girls. Once she finds some, she follows them! Even if you spot her a mile away you can't outrun her. She's too fast! The witch will get you, the witch will get you!"

"But it doesn't end there," the final boy joins in on the sick fun, "That's just the beginning. After she eats you she peels the skin off from your bones and uses it as…"

"That's enough," Joseph intervenes and places the cups of coffee on one of the ledges of the waterwheel. He crosses his arms across his chest as he glares at the boys, displeased.

"We were just playing with her! Honest!" one of them begins to justify.

The little girl starts to cry, covering her wet face with her small hands. Afraid. Even so, the three boys laugh at this, unable to control themselves. Joseph kneels beside the child, holding her with his arms. He gazes up at the three males.

"Don't you boys have anything else to do than create more fear here? As if there wasn't enough already?"

"I'm not 'fraid," the second boy responds, conjuring up the most toughest face he can devise. "Besides, my dad told me that he was going to kill the witch himself! He was going to kill her and the whole rest of 'em! That's what he said!"

"For your sake, I hope so," Joseph whispers to himself. In a louder voice he tells them, "Get going. And behave or the witch won't be the only person your father will have to deal with."

The three boys remain silent, trying not to stare into Joseph's harsh eyes. After awhile one of them sighs and starts walking away. Witches and demons they can handle. But their fathers? No sir! Anything but that!

"C'mon, guys," one of them calls out, "Let's find something else to play with."

"Yeah," they agree with a smirk and quickly follow.

Joseph watches them leave, hoping that they don't scare anyone else. It's bad enough that what they say might be true, but to use it as a form of a prank? No. He can't allow that. He'll have to talk to their fathers during dinnertime, at least to settle matters. If they're alive that is. In any account, they can't afford to spread panic, not with the delicate situation they're forced to face right now.

"Is it really true?" he hears a tiny voice ask.

Joseph smiles as he turns his head to face the little girl. Better to give the child a confident face than something to worry her. "No, young one, it isn't."

"Are you sure?"

A pause. "Yes. Of course I am."

It might be because he's an adult. Or it might be because he's always been the trusted man in the village. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it might be that she's willing to accept any type of wishful thinking. Whatever the case, the girl believes him. She finds a way to smile and accept his opinion as truth. She wraps her frail arms around Joseph's neck and hugs him tightly, as if she were clinging onto life itself. He hugs her back, giving her all the support that she needs. Finally, after a moment or so, the child kisses his cheek and lets go to run off.

"Stay inside," Joseph warns in a warm voice.

"I will," she giggles as she retreats to her home.

Joseph sighs, depressed at how this terrible ordeal has affected not only the adults, but the children too. No longer can they run into the forest and play like they used to. No more swimming by the river. No more fishing. No more cookouts. No more life, in other words. All that remains is the constant growing of fear and anxiety. How long is this going to last? How long will he wake up in the middle of the night, panicked?

"Natiche," he calls out the moment he sees a familiar face walk past him.

Joseph's son is a few meters away, carrying pieces of five feet long chopped wood. Each has sharp edges, trimmed to the very tips. Natiche abruptly stops when he hears his father call out to him. He may have stopped but Natiche doesn't turn around to greet the man who created him.

"What?" he asks in a cold voice, "What do you want?"

Adjusting his heavy jacket a bit, Joseph takes the cups he left by the waterwheel and meets his son where he stands. He walks around to face him and offers the second cup of coffee to him. "Here, son. I just made some. Drink."

"Drink?" Natiche just stares at the cup of coffee, "I'm busy right now, in case you haven't noticed. Why don't you have those strangers drink the coffee instead? I'm sure they'll be grateful… before they kill us all."

"Natiche," Joseph breathes out, becoming slightly aggravated. Second day with Dante and his friends and nothing has changed between him and his son. "Son, how many times do I have to tell you that they aren't like the others? They're here to help. Please. Give them a chance."

"Chance?" Natiche laughs and starts walking away, not taking the cup of coffee. "Chance was what got us in this shit in the first place, old fool!"

"Natiche, please…" Joseph cries out to him, seeing Natiche walk away from him.

Natiche ignores him. He hates ignoring him, but for some reason it makes him a bit happy. And why not? It's his fault! His fault for letting them in. His fault for everything after. What's the point of talking to a man who's too damn gullible to listen to his warnings anyway? Don't the deaths of their people mean anything to him? 

The strangers with them now are just like the strangers before, Natiche grimly reminds himself. They don't want to help. They probably were sent here to finish them all off. Or they're probably here to spy on them. Yes. That must be it. Each time he sees the guy with the white hair he keeps getting a strange vibe from him. 

Who gives a damn about the man that came here long ago to destroy the evil then? For all he knows, his father probably made up that story to give all of them hope. Like hell he'll fall for the strangers' lies and the possibility of that white haired man being on their side. He's on to them. He won't get fooled like last time. He made that mistake already and it cost him his brothers. Now he's all that's left of his family's legacy. It's up to him to look after things.

Natiche heads toward a group of men currently putting up a large fence with heavy and sharp logs. Each log looks recently chopped. Small splinters stick out. The smell of lumber fills his nostrils. He takes a moment to pause, seeing everyone in the village pitch in. It's all old fashion here. No… Nothing's changed since he left this place long ago.

He should've never returned. He shouldn't have come back home. But the divorce and years of hard drinking forced him here. He spent five years of his life with his then wife. And during that time, he was a successful artist in New York City, creating one masterpiece after another. They lived in a great department. Had a dog. Had lots of friends. Ate at the good restaurants. They were thinking of having children but somehow the timing never seemed right. And then one day… he screwed up. His wife found him screwing with another woman, some person he met at a gallery somewhere. Lauren left him soon afterwards. 

He tried to make things good again but couldn't. Even when they got back together things weren't the same and a month later they opted for a divorce. He went from one therapist to another. He even took a trip to Africa to help overcome his life's obstacles. Yet, no matter where he went, he was always depressed. He soon became a full fledge alcoholic, thinking he could ignore the pain. When things got out of hand, with him winding up in jail for a month, a silly thought popped in. Arizona. Go back. Go back to his childhood.

He never liked this place. It was way too old fashion for him and he swore when he was young that he'd leave it. And guess what? It STILL is old fashion. It's just how it looked when he left this hole. 

Natiche finds himself chuckling, at a thought or an irony. One can't tell which. After all, ordinary people get to go back to their childhood place and remember the person they once were. They spend their time trying to regain that innocence within. Him? Ha. He's here fighting for his very life against forces too surreal for even him, against a force he never even considered to be real in the first place. He always figured those tales of demons and evil was meant to scare and tame children into behaving well.

"Natiche," one of the men putting up the fence hollers to him all of a sudden. "What took you so long? I was beginning to think you'd let us do all the work."

"Mani…" Natiche grins a little, looking at a man who only wears a shirt and shorts despite the cold weather. 

Mani was crazy when they were best friends in their youth, and he's STILL crazy today. He's been doing these stunts since he was a babe, causing him to get into trouble almost daily. Unlike him, Mani never wanted to leave this awful place. He preferred sticking around to "build up his character" as well as stay in tuned with his heritage. He probably doesn't even know how to use a fucking cellular phone, the maniac. But now look at him. Six feet tall with a hard body that would make Arnold Schwarznegger feel proud. And a heart full of warmth and courage. My, has he been gone for that long? 

"Sorry, Mani," Natiche apologies, "An annoying fly got to me. Anyway, are you almost finished with the fence?"

"Almost," the opposite man replies and then wearily smiles, "But we still got lots to do so why don't you get your hands dirty and help, 'city boy'?"

"But I already did, 'Tarzan'," Natiche laughs, "I designed the fence for us to build, didn't I? It should hold up to any resistance those nasty demons throw at us."

"You wish!" Mani chuckles as he helps Natiche with the heavy logs he carries over his shoulder. "You're an artist, not an architect."

"Hey, I took a class in architecture. That counts, right?"

"College, bah!" spits Mani. "You spend money in trying to better yourself. Waste of time if you ask me."

"Ah, you're just jealous because you didn't have college potential," he teases.

"No, I'm jealous that you're the one doing less work around here."

Natiche grins a bit as he accompanies Mani near a fence where a group of men stand by, ready for the incoming logs. Together, Natiche and Mani stack the five feet long logs up vertically, stabbing them firmly into the ground. They hold them tightly while the other men begin tying the logs together with a handmade rope. At first glance, the extremely long rope looks like it'll give in to just a breeze. However, as the rope encircles and locks around the thick piles of vertical wood, Natiche can see its true inner strength. Something about that strikes him somehow.

"C'mon, you never once considered leaving this shithole?" Natiche continues their conversation.

"Hey, this 'shithole' is home. Granted, there's enough bullcrap to go around but it's still home. And speaking of which, I think you stepped on some."

Natiche looks under his shoe. Sure enough, Mani is right. Annoyed, Natiche curses and tries to wipe away the animal waste on a batch of snowy grass while the group of men laugh. He can hear some of them say 'city boy.' Gosh, even today they mock him.

"Home sweet home," he sarcastically whispers under his breath.

"Relax, Natiche," assure Mani but with a serious tone, "We won't be here for too long. We'll either leave or die."

A long wave of silence washes over them. The group of men stop laughing and pause from their work. Natiche is somewhat surprised since he's never remembered Mani ever being so serious. But what he says definitely hits a nerve.

"It was too much to hope for…" one of the men finally joins in a somber note. He picks up a shovel and resumes digging into the snow and dirt. His face red with pain and anger.

"I know," another man grimly states, "Damn train…"

Natiche swallows hard, unable to move or think. He doesn't even have to see them look up at him. He already knows that they are. And why not? It was him who told them about the train idea. And gave them hope.

They've been waiting for a train to arrive since forever. This transporter was the only thing that could've gotten them out of here. Buses are too far between. Cars hardly come here since this area is restricted from "the general public". Because a bill passed a few years ago, Indians have been given their million acres of deserved land and privacy. He knows that Indians at the south have decided to keep the borders open to everyone while others, like them, have decided to seclude themselves from the polluted-driven cities in order to preserve what was left of their heritage. Only a train visits the village to give them food, clothing, and other necessities. It only comes twice a month. That's it. They have no electricity. They have no phones. No televisions. Not even a radio. In other words, they are shut off from the world. About the only town even near here is over a thousand miles away.

When he first heard about a train that delivers their food, it gave him an idea. It could've been their chance of escape. They could've reached the nearest town around with it and call the local authorities there. Who cared if they didn't believe in demons? Let them investigate the mountains and they'll see for themselves. Then the marines will come in, or whoever, and blow these demons sky-high. But that all came to shit, didn't it? Yesterday, their only salvation in escaping this horrible place exploded. Not only did the passengers inside it die, but a piece of their hope as well.

"Then we'll have to wait for the next train to arrive this month," Natiche finally answers to the set of stiff faces staring at him. "I'm sure someone will look into yesterday's explosion anyway. They're bound to wonder where the passengers that died are. They'll track the train's course and eventually come here. Then they'll know the truth."

"The truth?" one of them laughs bitterly, "The truth about the deaths of those people on the train? Or about the demons?"

"Hopefully, both," he states simply.

"And maybe they won't come here after all," the final man in the group states as matter-of-fact. "What then?"

"They will come. They have to."

"But what if they don't? What happens next? What will we do?"

"We'll just have to be ready and mindful then. And skeptical."

"Skeptical?" Mani cocks an eyebrow, "Skeptical of what?"

"Of him," Natiche nods his head toward a direction.

Mani and the other men turn to see what has Natiche's attention. From afar, they see a white haired man lifting up a large and very heavy portion of a fence. Gosh, they need at least fifteen people to lift something like that up. This guy is doing it by himself.

"What the hell is he?" one of the men mutters to himself.

Dante pushes the large log of wood up with all this strength. Muscles flex and sweat pours. He grunts as he pushes this log up more, making sure that it stands straight and doesn't tilt. When he accomplishes this task, he quickly secures this piece by tying a rope around the rest of logs that also stand vertically. Dante exhales sharply, looking up at the work he's done so far. Two more pieces and that should do it. Granted, this won't stand a chance against the Frosts, but it'll prevent most demons that love to leap up and attack a moment to pause. Dante takes the axe nearby and heads for a very long tree directly behind him. He wears a red and black flannel shirt made of pure wool. His leather brown pants cling to him tightly, offering tons of warmth despite how thin they look from the outside. Heavy, brown, and knee-high boots crunch against the ice as he approaches the tree.

Before readying his axe, Dante wipes the sweat from his forehead and looks around, at the wilderness. He never thought that the wilderness, of all places, would be a perfect environment for him. He feels calm, at peace with himself. Usually, he goes to nightclubs, strip joints, or concerts to get some heavy relaxation. But none of those modern life activities can compare to the awesome feelings he has right now.

He grins and lifts up the axe. With great power, he strikes the midsection of the tree. Because he uses so much force, a boom effect occurs, nearly shaking the ground itself. Several people witness this and draw closer, watching Dante hit the tree with such incredible power. Soon, a crowd gathers, awing at Dante.

"He's really cute," one of the women whispers and giggles to her friends.

"Man, what sort of food does he eat?" another adds. "I want some of that."

"Superman!" a boy squeals in excitement, "It's Superman! He's come to save us!"

Meanwhile, as the spectators continue to murmur admiration toward the white haired man, Natiche and Mani watch Dante closely. Mani already knows what's on Natiche's mind. Natiche's hands are clenched, tightly breaking away any blood circulation going through his hand. Before Mani can stop him Natiche is already heading toward the gathering with an ugly look on his face.

"Timber!" Dante playfully yells once the tree starts to descend and breaks off, always wanting to say that.

The crowd cheers, laughing wholeheartedly and clapping. Even the children giggle in delight, the little boys envying Dante's strength and the little girls envying his handsome looks.

"Thank you," Dante grins at his audience and bends to bow, "Thank you."

"Dante," he suddenly hears ahead and looks up from his curtsy.

"Trish?"

Trish and Socrates emerge from the crowd, pushing and shoving their way through. Socrates tries to keep the crowd back as Trish advances toward his direction. Trish looks at the gatherers in astonishment before directing her gaze back at her partner.

"What are you doing?" Trish says, mouth open in shock, "You're supposed to be resting. Not providing these people with entertainment!"

Dante wipes at the sweat on his forehead, still smiling. "Beats having no television, right? 'Sides, I can't sleep all day. I need something to do. I feel like shit if I just rest in bed and do nothing. I feel a lot better anyway, babe."

"Uh," Socrates tells the crowd as he backs away to get closer to Dante and Trish, "You all should finish what you're doing. There's, uh, nothing to see here."

"What IS he?" he hears a man yell from the crowd. Amazed.

"Just an ordinary man who likes to… uh… lift weights a lot." Socrates continues urging the crowd away. Once they do he walks within a foot of Dante.

"Jeez, Dante, weren't you the one to tell me to keep your profile 'concealed'? You want to tell everyone what you really are?"

"C'mon, stop bitching at me, man. I'm cool. No one knows."

"YET, if you keep doing these stunts."

Dante rolls his eyes at Socrates. His eyes roll to Trish. "So where did the two of you go, anyway? When I woke up you two weren't in sight. I hate it when lovers love me then split. No letter. No call."

"Dante," Socrates ignores, "Trish and I have been doing some thinking…."

"About?"

"I won't be going with you when you travel to get the Book of the Dead, Dante," Trish says. "I'm staying behind."

"What?" he glances at Trish sideways, curious.

"Trish needs to protect the people while we go off," quickly explains Socrates.

"We? As in, you and me?" Dante chuckles and shakes his head when the young man nods. "Sorry. No offense, wing boy, but I only work with people I already know like the back of my hand. Maybe YOU should stay behind and leave it to me and Trish to find the book."

Trish smiles sweetly at Socrates in a 'I-told-you-so' manner.

"I already told you," Socrates argues, "Finding this angel is like finding a needle in a haystack. I'm the only one who has a better chance in discovering his or hers identity than the both of you combined. This is a delicate situation you're dealing with and you'll be lost without my guidance. Going back through the past isn't a walk in the park, as they say. It's more like taking an electrical appliance through a car wash." 

"What do you mean?" Trish inquires, not knowing this herself.

"Yeah," adds Dante, "Enlighten us."

"I mean…" he makes a hand gesture, trying to see where to begin. "Time has its effects. The actions we do can effectively change the things to come. If we so much as say or do something wrong then we've already upset the past. Don't you see? The longer we stay in the past the more of a chance we'll have in doing something that can ultimately effect Sparda's actions. And that could mean that humanity pays the price for it."

Dante and Trish begin to understand.

"And like I told Trish," continues Socrates. "I'm not nearly as powerful as you two. I'm better off helping you than these people."

"Could've fooled me," Dante scratches his eyebrow, "You do a wicked light show."

"Yeah, but you already saw that Imp was not affected by it."

"Who's to say that Imp will be around here when we go?" Dante asks, his voice a little rough. "Wouldn't he be after us?"

"No. Knowing David he'll have someone look over these people while we're away."

Dante stops, considering what Socrates says. He looks back at Trish.

"And you think my girl can take him down? Provided that he sticks around here in the first place?" he asks the young man skeptically, but still looking at Trish. "Sheeit, Socrates, even 'I' couldn't take Imp down, let alone Trish. What makes you think that she stands a chance against him?"

"Excuse me?" Trish butts into the conversation, eyebrows raised and hands on hips. "I can take on anything anyone throws at me, Dante."

"Yeah?" Dante chuckles cynically, "And this comes from the same person who was the first one to get nailed by Imp?"

"He caught me off guard," she explains herself.

"Exactly. And next time you fuck up it'll mean your ass."

"I won't let it happen again."

"Whatever."

"I'm staying," Trish says out loud, with conviction. "I don't have to rely on you to watch my back. I can take care of myself just fine."

Dante looks at her. He knows damn well that Trish can be just as stubborn as he is when she's pushed too far. Sure, she's willing to compromise but not if she feels that whatever she wants to do is right. Can he blame her for wanting this? To prove herself to him and everyone else? He can't keep clipping her wings. The girl's got to fly. She's got to take chances and make mistakes. Yeah, the cynical voice replies, and that mistake can cost Trish her life. 

Dante remembers the dream and visions. In each one, Trish dies. Her head is cut off. If he lets her stay behind with Imp… there's no telling what will happen while he's away. She might be okay but what if those dreams are a premonition of the things to come? It can't be a coincidence that he saw Imp carrying the same sword he saw in his dreams. It just can't be.

"I can do it, Dante," Trish says softly, "You have to believe in me. I can do it."

He blinks. Belief. Yeah. Belief is powerful. Yes. He DOES have to believe in her, the same way she believes in him. She believed in him once and he defeated Mundus. Maybe… maybe things will turn out for the best. He hopes.

"All right, Trish," he replies, his voice serious as ever. "Stay. But stand ready. If that fucker comes this way you axe him with extreme prejudice. Crystal on that?"

"Clear."

Dante slowly nods in approval but starts to have second thoughts. Maybe this really isn't a good idea. In fact… maybe he's just activated the launch sequence. He should probably…

"Nice show you put on for us," Dante hears Natiche's voice emerge from behind.

Dante's eyes narrow coldly as he turns to see Natiche looking deep into his eyes. Aw, hell, not this guy again…

"For a sick guy, you sure have a lot of spirit in you yet," Natiche continues in a very cynical voice. "Then again, it could all just be an act, right?"

"What's your problem, pal?" Dante cocks his head sideways. "You've been on me from the start. What have I done to get on your shitty list?"

"It's you. You're my problem." Natiche takes a couple of steps forward until he's right in Dante's face. "I don't like you. I don't trust you. Why don't you come clean before I do something everyone here is too chicken-shit to do?"

Dante thinks of the saying the first thing in his mind but stops midway when he notices Trish quickly joining Natiche and him, most likely to stop the friction going on. If she doesn't do something about this then things are likely to get ugly real soon. He ain't a patient guy. Nor is he the type to back off when push comes to shove.

"All right," Trish tells the two men as gently as possible. "Let's knock it off. Aren't you forgetting that we're fighting a war here?"

"Tell that to him," Dante's eyes lock into Natiche's. Neither man stands down.

"I've every right to be suspicious about you, asshole. You're just like the others."

"Asshole?" quotes Dante, "Oh, that's very mature of you, prick."

"Knock it off you two, I mean it! It's bad enough we've got to deal with the problems we have right now. We don't need this shit now."

"Lay off," Natiche pushes Trish to the side. "You're not entitled to tell me what to do."

"Don't you lay a hand on her again!" Dante readies his fist for a punch but Socrates hurriedly grabs Dante's arm to prevent him from delivering the blow. 

He uses all of his strength to hold Dante down. Jesus. Dante isn't in devil trigger form but holding him off is like trying to hold off an elephant! 

"Let go, wing boy!" demands Dante, "I mean it!"

"All of you! Stop!"

All four of them halt the moment they hear Joseph's voice boom overhead. Dante slowly lowers his arm while Natiche takes a step away from Trish and him. He curses under his breath.

"That'll be enough fighting," Joseph demands as he reaches them. "Save it for when we really need. This is childish."

"Childish?" snorts Natiche, "I'll tell you whose childish. You are! I can't BELIEVE you'd choose these strangers over me! Over your own son!"

"I'm not choosing anyone over anything. And you'll do well to remember that, Natiche. Now stop this nonsense of yours. It's creating panic for everyone."

"Oh, that's right… it's MY fault now, is it?"

"Natiche –"

"No! Forget it!" Natiche storms off, joining the men near the fence again.

As he walks away, Dante straightens up his flannel shirt. "Boy has a habit of walkin' off when things get out of hand. First he starts shit up but when things don't go his way, he leaves. Coward."

"My son is nervous, Dante," Joseph comments very seriously. "He's nervous of you."

"What's there to be nervous of, Joseph? Don't you know we're on your team? That we're here to help? We're not like David and his pack."

"Perhaps. But we're not entirely sure of who you are either. Or your true purpose here."

Dante keeps quiet, not at all surprised by Joseph's reply. As much as he'd like, he can't tell him everything. It's best to keep things silent. It makes things easier. But it also makes things difficult in regards to trust.

Joseph looks at Dante for a minute with an unreadable expression on his face. 

"What's the status on the parameter defenses?" requests Socrates, trying to break up the tension currently building right now.

"The fence at the north and south of the village are up," Joseph reports, "Hopefully, the fence in the west will be up before nightfall."

"Great," Socrates answers with a smile. "Good to know there's something positive here."

"And the east?" inquires Dante. "What about the east part of the village?"

"It's… secured," Joseph replies softly.

Socrates, Trish, and Dante notice the face Joseph makes. Dante is the most curious, however. The east part of the village, according to what he heard, has never been attacked. In fact, none of the demons emerged from that direction when the assaults first began. Why was that? What stopped them?

"The area leading to the east path of the village… contains a sacred resting place," explains Joseph.

"You mean there's a burial ground around there?" Trish asks.

Joseph nods.

"Why didn't you tell us about this burial ground before?" Dante asks, "Demons can't go there. It's too sacred that any demon who dares set foot on it involuntarily self combusts. You all can hide out there rather than hang out here in the open, where you can be some devil's lunch."

"We thought about that but while the sacred ground itself is safe the area around it isn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"David has blocked our path to the cemetery with his evil minions. Each time we try to reach this sacred ground we are ambushed. As long as we don't attempt to go there the demons stationed there won't attack us. Either way, from this perspective, the east area is the least of our concerns." 

"Hey, I just got at idea" Socrates whispers to Dante and nudges him away from Joseph and Trish so that they can talk in private.

Both Joseph and Trish watch them in silence. Deep down, Trish feels a slight hint of anger flare.

"This can be our lucky break!" Socrates whispers to Dante excitedly.

"Huh?"

"The east path also leads to the mountains. It'll take us a little longer than the alternative routes, but we can still make a break for our destination while only dealing with the devils blocking the sacred area. We'll be there in no time."

"Wonderful," Dante replies grimly, "but there's one small problem there."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"This kind of thing affects me too," answers Dante almost bitterly.

Socrates pauses for a long time. "What do you mean? You're human, aren't you?"

"Yes. Last time I checked I am. But I'm also part demon too, buddy. While I won't self-combust like the other demons all my powers and strength will be drained. Worse, if I stick around there longer than necessary I could die."

"But… How do you know? I mean… you're human too, Dante."

"Trust me. It's happened to me before…" He looks away, trying to hide away the pain on his face. "…a long time ago to be exact."

He remembers a cemetery he visited a long time ago. He remembers the names on those tombstones too. Eva and Vergil. Loving mother and wife. Loving brother and son. Damn, it was bad enough they were dead but as a child, he couldn't visit their burials as he wanted to. He was too weak and fragile to stay in sacred ground for too long. His demon blood was already blossoming, showing him new powers. But they were also the ones responsible for his inability to set foot on that cemetery. He felt his entire body grow numb and he vomited out his own blood. He was horrified when he saw that blood turn into fire the moment it made contact with the grass of the cemetery. He couldn't remain there for long.

"I guess we'll have to find another way," Socrates mentions quietly, breaking away Dante's line of concentration.

"No…" Dante shakes his head. "You're right. East path is the way to go. That's why David built a fort there. He knows it too. But we'll deal with that later on."

"Yeah," Socrates agrees and turns his attention back to Joseph who seems curious of what he and Dante are discussing. "What about weapons? Did you gather all your weapons into one room like I said, Joseph?"

"Yes. But we've yet to do a weapons inventory checklist. We've been too busy erecting the fence and securing other areas of the village. I'd do it myself but I doubt I'll have a checklist done before dinnertime."

"Then I'll help," Trish offers. "I don't have much to do anyway."

Joseph nods in approval. He pauses for a long time before saying anything else. Instead, he looks up at the sky and notices a red mist building there. 

"Did you see it?" he asks suddenly.

"See what?" asks Dante, confused.

"That," he points at the red mist.

Dante looks at the red mist with a completely surprised expression. He didn't realize the small red mist in the sky until now. And with the sunlight shining against it, it's hard to even notice it without close observation. Fuck. How long has it been there?

"It's coming from the mountains," Trish answers Joseph in a stiff voice. "I sensed a terrible evil within."

"Do you know what it is?" Joseph asks.

"No," she shakes her head.

"How did you sense that?" inquires Dante. "In fact, how do you know it's coming from the mountains in the first place and not somewhere else?"

"Because Socrates and I went to visit the mountains an hour ago. Strange enough, there weren't any demons where we were scoping things out."

Dante's eyes narrow with a questionable look on his face. "So that's where you two went… Why didn't you both tell me about this?"

"The red mist emerged late last night," Socrates explains, "Sometime after you fell asleep. Trish and I decided to check it out."

"You were sick," Trish adds when she sees Dante express a stiff face. "We didn't want to stress you out with this."

"I don't care if I'm blind or near death like yesterday, honey, you've gotta give me intel."

Trish and Socrates slowly nod, realizing that information is vital for Dante.

"Do you know what it is, son?" Joseph asks Dante, curious more than ever. Or fearful. One can't determine.

Dante slowly shakes his head. "No. Can't say I've ever seen one of those, but whatever it is, it's not a freak of nature. Someone made that mist appear."

Siren? David? Could they have done this? He's not sure. If only Trish and Socrates invited him to tag on their trip. He'd probably have a better idea. 

Even now, the red mist continues expanding itself. Scouring the blue sky and consuming it with crimson. Birds flee from its path, terrified by its presence while the wind howls in anger. Joseph's lower jaw dances as it gets even colder.

"I'll be getting to that weapon's inventory checklist now. The faster the better."

"Right," agrees Trish. "Dante, I'll be with Joseph if you need me. See you at dinner."

"See you, sidekick."

Trish follows Joseph and disappears among the crowd of busy people.

Dante nods as he watches her leave. Then turns for a mug of water on the ground. He sits down on a bench made of pinewood. If he could, he'd admire its architect since it really does look inspirational. On the flat top of it, curves and lines compose a wonderful image of three children glaring up at a sun, raising their hands on top of their heads. He wonders what it will be like when the sun becomes no more, when the eclipse arrives. Will the eclipse tomorrow be the end of all light in this planet? Will the world be covered in… darkness? It's kind of funny that these things always happen when there's an eclipse. It's become a cliché even, he humors to himself.

He glances up at the sun, still thinking about the eclipse but also on other matters. Will they set up the defenses before nightfall? Hopefully so. Demons like to attack at night. They like the dark. They like the fear it invokes in their prey even more. He'd better get back to work but right now he'll take a small break. Dante chugs down the mug of water to keep his body cool. Funny, the weather is easily twenty below but doing laborious work can do a lot to a tired man. 

Socrates sits right next to him and removes his goggles, throwing them on the snowy ground. He keeps quiet, his hands crossed on his lap. He looks like a priest, waiting for a confession. His mouth opens to say something but he holds back.

"I'm all right, y' know," mutters the silvered-haired man, already reading wing boy's thoughts at the moment.

"I know you are, Dante, but that fever nearly took the life out of you. We couldn't risk you coming along this morning. And besides, you should be in bed right now, not out here."

"I'm a fighter, wing boy. Mundus couldn't take me down and neither did that fever. 'Sides, I feel perfectly fine."

"But still… Don't you think you're overdoing it?"

"No. I'm just getting started."

"It's not a good idea for you to be doing so much labor since things will get ugly once we reach our destination." 

"And it's not a good idea for me to just sit around and do nothing either." He observes Socrates with a look of determination. "These people need help and I'm gonna do all that I can to ease things around here. 'Sides, we'll get to the mountains eventually, by force if need be. And then we can find that damn book and free my mother and brother's souls. End of story."

"That fever was as bad as they come. I'm just so astonished to see you out here after considering how close to death you were last night." 

"I'm a fast healer," adds Dante quickly.

"Even Trish is concerned," Socrates continues persistently, "She tells me you haven't been yourself lately."

"She over-exaggerates a lot."

"Really? Or are you afraid that she's right? Maybe this fever was the product of all the stress you've been through. Maybe it's a warning telling you to ease down a bit."

"Or maybe," he puts the mug down and looks him straight in the eye, "you're just wrong. I'm fine for crying out loud."

Nevertheless, Socrates puts a hand over Dante's forehead to check his temperature, making sure he speaks truth. Dante aggressively slaps the hand away before he can register how warm it is.

"You just don't listen well, do you?" scoffs Dante very frustratingly, "I told you that I'm fine! F-I-N-E. Can you register that, Socrates? Are you computing? Is your damn brain set on stun or something?"

Socrates looks at Dante, a bit taken aback by Dante's harsh attitude. The young man swallows the large clump formed in his throat, his hands shaking nervously. He never was one to take comments like Dante's lightly. His body, no matter how much he tries to keep it in control, has a terrible habit of sweating and trembling when harsh words come into play. He… he was only concerned. That was all. He didn't mean to get Dante so upset. It was only right for him to ask and make sure his friend was all right. But are they even friends? Or simply, comrades?

"I'm sorry," he says very softly and stands to leave. "I didn't mean to get you angry…"

Dante's face turns a bit pale, appalled by his own insensitive nature. Jesus, he didn't have to be THAT much of an asshole. Socrates was concerned. What the hell gave him the right to jerk him around like that? To wing boy, of all people?

Before Socrates can walk away, he grabs the freckled face's arm to force him to stop. 

"No… I'm the jerk," Dante says, talking to Socrates' back, still holding the arm to prevent him from moving. "I… I don't know what's come over me. Fuck, Socrates, I'm so used to people giving me crap, I've nearly forgotten what it was like to have people who actually give a damn about anything than themselves."

Dante lets go of the arm, deciding to let Socrates choose whether to forgive him or not.

"I had a fever like this once," he finds himself blurting out loud before Socrates takes the first step away from him. He doesn't know why this specific memory has crept up on him at this very moment, likewise on why he wants to talk about it. But for some reason, it seems logical. "It was when I was nine. My birthday."

Socrates stands still. Slowly, he turns around. His eyes reveal a strange quality in them. While he remains timid as ever, there seems to be a look of agony in them.

"Tell me more about that fever," the red haired man gently requests.

The two men stare at each other. One waiting for the next move. Dante makes the first. He digs up a memory only to realize how eerie it is. There are so many gaps in it, so many questions. The line of what really happened versus what never happened has become a blur throughout these many years. Gosh, how long has it been? And why is he thinking about it right now?

Socrates stands next to Dante, not choosing to sit but not choosing to leave either.

"It happened on my birthday like I said. By then, mom decided to move me and my bro, Vergil, to the state of Michigan," he manages to say. "Our house was pretty and there was a lake nearby. It got extremely cold during the winter."

Dante chuckles, remembering the times how he and Vergil would build snowmen. Vergil's snowmen always came out great while his always came out like crap. Their heads kept flopping out and the pressure of their vast bodies would give way. The buttons would get lost by night. The arms would sag down. Yet, Vergil was always there. He was always there to give him a hand. Vergil…

"It was our birthday, Vergil and mines. We were turning nine. That day was the coldest day ever. I had a fight with mom over some stupid thing so I went over to the lake. That's where I liked to spend my 'off' time. It was a place where I could forget everything and daydream about meetin' my old man."

He can't help but to grin, remembering how he'd ALWAYS daydream that image. It was his one and only wish he ever made. In each of his birthdays he wished for nothing more than to see his father. And in each year, he was left disappointed. Days passed. Would-be stepfathers came and went. Soon, it was just the three of them, all bonded by a single extraordinary man. None of them could move backward but none of them could move forward either.

"Night was coming but I really didn't care," he continues. "I just stared up at the moon. I was in the middle of daydreaming when… something happened…"

He stops before going any further. Yes, this is the part where things get tricky. This is where that huge gap is. This is the part where he can't tell what happened and what didn't.

"What happened?" Socrates inquires after seeing Dante quiet for a long time. He finally sits down beside him, expressing his usual curious face.

Dante finds himself grimacing, unable to answer Socrates' question. He shakes his head.

"I really don't know myself, wing boy. All I can remember is me in the water. Drowning. And feeling so hot despite the cold weather. Vergil got me out and I was in the hospital for two weeks because I had a deadly fever. The docs never saw anything like it. They told my mom if it got any worse I would've been in a coma or worse, dead."

Dante looks up at Socrates, shaking his head as some realization hits him.

"It felt… it felt just like the one I had yesterday wing boy. Isn't that weird?"

Isn't that a coincidence? He feels like asking too. Dante blinks. Yes. WEIRD. He can clearly recall the water surrounding him. But he can recall something else too. He can almost see… a man. A dark man. A dark and very strange man. Yes. He was there. He was saying something to him but… No. It couldn't be. There couldn't have been a man. Could there?

"Sorry, my memory is still a blur," sighs Dante and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, "In fact, the docs told me that I suffered some memory loss. Even to this day I'm not sure if I recovered all my memories. One thing was for sure, though… things weren't ever the same again."

"What do you mean?"

A pause. Dante sighs, his face filled with confusion and discontent.

"Look, man," Dante begins without answering Socrates' question. He looks straight into Socrates' face again, this time with a warm expression on his face. "I didn't mean to go out on you like that again…"

This is the second time this has happened. The poor kid has become his personal, living and breathing punching bag for Christ's sake.

"I'll make you a deal," Dante starts to grin, to brighten up his companion's mood. "Next time I act like an asshole, punch me."

This causes Socrates to raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"No, I'm serious," chuckles Dante, "Hit me. Tell me to snap out of it. I don't care what you do, just as long as you get me out of my bitchy mood."

Socrates looks at Dante for a long time, registering what he just heard. He's not sure whether Dante is serious or not. Slowly, however, he smiles.

"You're serious?"

"Yeah."

"And here I thought that women were the only ones suffering from PMS," Socrates jokes.

"Hey!" Dante slaps the back of Socrates' head for thinking such a way. "I ain't no woman. The day I become one is the day pigs fly!"

Siren observes his lean muscular figure carefully from far away, watching him like a hawk. Her eyes brighten a bit, intense by what beauty she observes. She wants him. Oh, how she wants this man so badly. If only tomorrow was today! Then, she could have him. Then, they could be together. She just has to be patient and constantly remind herself that each hour grows closer. See? A second just flew by just now. Eventually, those seconds will add up to a minute. And those minutes will be hours. And those hours will be days. Yes. Soon. Soon, they will be together. They will be bonded into each other like animals. His strong arms will be wrapped around her body. His mouth will devour her lips and bosom and elsewhere. His white-blue eyes will probe into hers. Yes… they will become a glob of hot, sweaty flesh. Feasting off each other. Tasting each others-

"Yo, Siren, babe?" Imp breaks Siren's daydream, his all-too-familiar cocky voice approaching from behind her. "You got Dante in sight?"

Siren blinks, her hand clutching tightly onto the fabric of her provocative dress as an orgasm comes and goes. "Yes, Imp? What was that you say?"

Imp gives Siren an annoyed glance as she turns around to face him. He can only wonder what's on that dirty girl's mind right now, man. Sure, Siren is sophisticated and intellectual most of the time. Give her a job and she'll turn in her assignment. She's got 'A' plus material, y' know what I mean? But show the woman a man like Dante and she becomes hornier than a heated dog durin' the summer. Jesus, someone hose this babe down before she explodes and takes him down with her.

Standing slumped against a very tall tree, Imp folds his arms together and crosses one leg over the other. The red sky reflecting off his long, pitch-black hair.

They're at the edge of a cliff overlooking the small village below. From him perspective, the people look like small, busy ants. All working and doing something 'productive'. How very cute, he thinks lightheartedly.

Many forest trees surround him and Siren, covering every inch of ground and, thereby, masking their location from village onlookers that should happen to look up at the cliff they're on. The weather up here is chilly but it doesn't bother Imp at all. 'Sides, he likes cold weather. It makes him feel numb all over.

Imp lowers his glasses slightly with a finger as he watches Siren with his purple eyes. The annoyed but now amused expression is still there on his face.

"I asked you if you had Dante in sight, babe," he repeats to her, "But seeing how you're too busy daydreaming you didn't hear that, did you? C'mon, woman, we ain't got all day. I'm missing the new season of 'The Simpsons' because of this."

Siren doesn't say anything. Instead, she shoots one more glance at her beloved Dante. Nearby, Feral approached Siren and cuddles against her leg, seeking affection from its master. Siren pats its head once but obsessively continues watching Dante. Despite how far below he is from her, she can still pinpoint him from the rest of the tiny villagers. See? He's there, sitting right next to that Socrates, boy. So close yet so far away…

Imp disgustingly burps out loud and stretches his arms above his head. "That's it. I'm leavin'. I'm kinda tired of stayin' here, watchin' you have sick fantasies about that boy."

"Fine," Siren states simply yet resumes looking at Dante, "But be back here soon. It'll almost be time for Dante to leave this place. And present."

"Yeah, talk about a vacation spot. Going back through time ain't exactly on the brochure, y' know. Too bad he ain't going there for the reason that he thinks he's going there."

Siren smiles finally, shifting her attention to her companion. "Yes. Too bad."

"I kinda feel sorry for him, y' know," Imp replies, his voice a little soft as he joins Siren near the edge of the cliff. "Dante's just a pawn. Like the both of us. What he does won't make any difference anymore than me going against my old man. It's inevitable."

"Maybe you'd like to think of yourself as a pawn, dear, but I don't think I am. I'm thinking of this as a reward for all the times I've served under your father."

"C'mon, Siren, this is my dad we're talkin' about," he scoffs, "He's not the charitable type. He doesn't DO nice things unless it's to his advantage. I'm figurin' that there's more to what he's giving you than meets the eye, only you're too love struck to see this coming. Something's up."

"If you feel that this is wrong, then why are you here? Why are you following your father's orders? In fact, why did you fight Dante in the first place?"

He shrugs his shoulders, soon glancing down only to see Feral staring right at him.

"Dunno, Siren," he answers softly, "Part of me wants to distant myself from my father. And I feel by proving myself to him and getting his respect he'll leave me alone. Then there's the other part of me who wants to be worthy. He always thought low of me, y' know, even when I developed my powers at puberty. It was always Dante this. Dante that. But then there's this other part of me that's different. It's strange, even… This part of me actually hopes that I'm wrong… that Dante will get through this and get rid my old man and end my misery." 

"And how do you plan on accomplishing that? By fighting him?"

"That's exactly my point, Siren. I AM helping Dante by fighting him. I'm… preparing him for the worse. Kinda giving him a heads-up, y' know. Or, heaven forbid, I could just be here to learn something."

"Learn something?" Siren laughs, "What does that mean? Learn what?"

"Dunno yet. I'll get back with you once I've learned it." He grins.

"You'll have enough time to think about it, I'll grant you that."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Your father sent word to me before I rendezvoused with you."

"What SORT of word?" Imp questions her carefully.

"You're to stay here with Feral and make sure this area is secured while I follow Dante through the portal. You'll keep the inhabitants busy until Dante is, well, you know…"

"Excuse me?" Imp smirks, "I thought I was tagging along. I ain't no babysitter."

"There's a conflict now. Dante brought his female companion along after all. An unseen event to your father. The good news, though, is that she means nothing to us at the moment. But when the time comes, she can serve as a potential threat to your father. And me."

"Female companion? Oh, you mean the hot blond babe I froze with Dante and nerd boy?" Imp realizes. "Funny, I thought my father would've seen her comin'."

"Apparently he didn't."

"He doesn't make mistakes, Siren," Imp reminds her and spits on the ground, "Either he's losing his edge or worse, he's lying to us. I'm telling; you, he's holding back on us. How is that he can predict an entire future ahead but not foresee the babe coming along in Dante's trip?"

Imp walks away. He stops only to add, "I think he WANTS me to stay here. I think he's been wanting this from the get-go. Too bad I'm so fucked up to know what move to make. And what not to."

"Stop being paranoid, Imp. It's annoying me."

"Good. Now you know how I feel about you and your damn daydreaming."

"Will you do as he pleases?"

Imp thinks a moment. "If it's what he wants… I guess I have no other choice. The guy has me figured out all the way through. Like I said, Siren, nothing I do will make a difference. I doubt Dante will fare any better either. We're all just pawns in my old man's sick little game. By the time I figure out what game that is, it'll be already too late."

With that, Imp deserts Siren. Feral licks Siren's leg, comforting her. However, as much as she'd like to believe what she wants to believe, she can't help but feel that Imp makes SOME kind of sense. Could she be as blind as he said her to be? Could David be… lying to her all along? Surely not! She's been his loyal servant. Not once has she disobeyed his command. And it's not like she has any plans on going against him or acting as selfish as Imp in the future anyway. If anyone should deserve a reward it should be her. He promised her love. He promised her Dante! Surely David wouldn't deceive her. Would he?

            Trish takes off her dark sunglasses while she curiously watches the batch of impressive arsenal surrounding her being. Each of them is placed on metal racks placed against the walls of the room. The shack-like compartment harboring the village's weapons appeared small from the outside. Yet, it's much huger than she first thought. For a bunch of villagers who prefer to stay in a low profile and choose not to get involved in modern life within the Western culture, they sure are kept up-to-date. Some of the weapons are even the new models sold in the black market. Then again, them having these types of weapons shouldn't be any surprise. Joseph's first son, the one that's dead now, was a hunter of sorts. He collected guns that ranged from knives, rifles, Uzi guns, to pistols. There's even a grenade launcher! At least what's left of it anyway. 

These Indians might want to keep their heritage and traditions but that doesn't mean they can't adapt either. If anything, the gun collection here is as vast as the one Dante has at home. Boy, the FBI would be all over these two guys if they knew what their special hobbies were.

Trish retrieves a PGA sniper rifle on the rack nearest to her. She checks the cartridge, studying the thin but very long bullets inside. Each of the bullets' tips is extremely sharp, giving an almost painful effect to anyone who's unfortunate enough to get in their way. Overall, the rifle is heavy but to her it's a piece of paper. Sheeit, she lifted Dante's motorcycle at one time and didn't break a sweat. It's times like this that being a demon has its benefits, even if there are few and far between.

"As you can see," Joseph says from across the compartment, his tone very informative. "This is all we have. It isn't many but it's something."

"You're kidding, right? You could take out a horde of demons with that grenade launcher of yours alone. And besides, it's better than fighting demons with rocks, am I correct?" Trish humors and puts the rifle back to its resting place.

She picks up another weapon and studies that one too. Again, this one is as lethal as the first. They obviously have the tools to hold the demons off until Dante and Socrates retrieve the Book of the Dead. They just need the wits and smarts to match it.

"Before I forget," Joseph inserts as he makes his way around a large table containing gun parts, "I have your weapons here. We found them a few meters away from you three."

"You did?"  
            "Yes."

Trish tries to ignore the awkwardness she feels but can't. This is just too weird. Why would Imp and Siren leave their weapons lying around? Wouldn't the smart thing to do be to take away their swords and guns? That would've given them the extra advantage. How very odd indeed. First, Imp freezes them. Then, he unfreezes them. And not only that, he's left them their weapons. Either this is a game to them or Imp and Siren have something else in mind.

The black clad woman waits patiently while Joseph enters another area of the shack. It's much smaller she could tell from her viewpoint. In fact, it's only the size of a closet. A minute passes and she hears Joseph rummaging through things. Finally, after awhile, he emerges carrying familiar weapons. 

Joseph carries Alastor and Sparda with both hands. They look like they've just been cleaned recently. No doubt, Joseph's doing. Their metal gleams a bit as Joseph approaches Trish closer. The old man struggles a bit midway into the room, however, because of their massive weight. Dante's sword, alone, weighs as big as a truck. Trish grins and quickly runs to relieve Joseph of the tedious task.

"Thank you, Joseph," she tells him and looks at her own sword. "We owe you."

"Wait," Joseph replies and returns to the small back room only to come back with three more recognizable weapons. "Your guns."

After placing Alastor and Sparda on the table containing gun parts, Trish accepts Ebony, Ivory, and Pluto. They, too, appear as if they've been polished. She holsters Pluto in her gun belt. She has to keep herself from grinning. Having Pluto back is like having a pet come back home. Pluto sinks in, resting in its designated place. At least now, with Pluto, she feels a little better. Trish places Ebony and Ivory next to her sword on the table. Joseph, meanwhile, glances at the magnum gun admirably.

"I've never seen one like that before," he points to Pluto with a finger.

"Oh, this?" she taps the butt of Pluto, "My partner custom made this baby for me. His name is Pluto. Pretty nifty, right?"

"Yes. Very." He continues looking at it, even as Trish walks past him to observe the other weapons on the walls.

Trish finds more rifles. Some machine guns. A couple of shotguns. Lots of bullets to fit each weapon of destruction. They're going to need a good hour to get these all in the checklist. If only there was a gatling gun, she thinks light-heartedly. Then no demon would be able to stand a chance against them.

Her eyes widen in surprise when one weapon catches her attention all of a sudden. She strolls right next to it. Slowly.

The bow gun is equipped with automatic arrows and an-easy-to-use trigger device. Its figure is long and slender. Carefully, Trish removes it from the wall, looking at it as if she just saw the love of her life. The weight of it, despite its appearance, feels just right for her. Even as she cradles it under her armpit to aim up at the ceiling, it feels comfortable. Trish continues observing the bow gun in different angles. Under the dim lighting of the room, the metal of the weapon shines to her.

"Pretty nifty, right?" Joseph smiles, quoting her just now.

"Yes. Very." She quotes back and her white teeth show.

She continues observing it, watching its unique structure. Removing one of the arrows already installed in the weapon, Trish tenderly pecks at the tip of it. It's very sharp. Precise.

Trish can feel Joseph's eyes on her. She turns around to see him, already knowing exactly what he has in mind.

"All right," she gives him a smile and sees how Joseph's face lights up. "I give. I'll trade you my gun for this mean bitch here."

Trish quickly removes Pluto from her gun belt, almost at lightening speed. She tosses it up in the air for Joseph to catch. He grabs it instantly with an appreciative nod. Trish gives him a wink in return and then takes a seat on the table harboring Dante's and her weapons. 

She removes one of the pouches on her gun belt containing holy water. Soon after, she takes the arrow she extracted earlier and dips the tip of it with the blessed water. She proceeds to do the same to the rest of the other arrows. All the while, however, something inside bugs her, something that she needs to get out in the open. The recent confrontation with Joseph's son has given her something to worry over. Dante isn't the type to waste time in getting to know a person. However, he doesn't realize how precious trust is. If they ARE going to stop David then they're going to need everyone's help. She's going to be here anyway. Might as well get involved with the people, right?

"You look like you're troubled, child," Joseph comments out of nowhere, realizing the disturbed face she makes.

Trish is quiet for some time. She dips another arrow with holy water.

"Don't worry, child. We'll make it out of here, if that's what's bothering you.

"Actually," Trish begins quietly, "it's not that."

"Then please," Joseph takes a seat across her, "tell me what it is."

She swallows hard, trying to figure out where to begin. Her mind is working but her mouth isn't. If only things were easy for her. 

"Joseph… Dante and Socrates will be away for awhile. Just for a while."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I'll be here to make sure everyone's all right," she quickly inserts, trying not to worry Joseph. Or make him any more suspicious of Dante as he already is.

"Where are they going?" he asks carefully, his voice very neutral.

A slight pause. "To the mountains."

A long moment of silence. 

Joseph eyes her cautiously. His eyebrows grow in a slight frown while his lips curl a bit. After a long time, he looks Trish dead in the eye.

"But why? It's dangerous there. You know that. Many of my people have already died trying to reach it. Why not stay here and wait for help to arrive?" A small pause. "Or is there something else you're not telling me?"

"Look Joseph… you've got to trust me. It's not what you think."

"Then tell me. From the very beginning you've avoided all questions in regards to your reason being here. You came here for a purpose. I'd like to know what that purpose is."

Trish rubs the temples of her head, feeling an incoming headache approaching. "Dante and Socrates feel they can put a stop to this once and for all. They're planning on getting to David head-on."

"That's insane. No one can reach that… 'man'. I don't think he's even human. When I sleep at night, I see him there. In my dreams. And in my dreams all I see are his eyes. And in those eyes lies an evil as pitch as black."

"I know you feel this way, Joseph, but we can't wait here. Eventually they'll come for us, for all of us. We need to make a stand."

"What's the point in making a stand if it means more lives at stake? I suggest we stay here. Until help arrives."

Trish pulls her hands away from her face, frustrated. Jesus. Doesn't he understand? They can't stay here! There's no telling what's going to happen tomorrow! David will do all that he can to cause her and everyone else here death and pain.

"How long will your friends be away?" Joseph says when he notices the very long moment of silence. It's obvious this woman is hiding something. But what that is remains a mystery. Can he and his people truly trust them? Or has Natiche been right all along?

"They should be back by tomorrow," she answers very briefly and adds, "Hopefully."

"Is there anything I can do to stop them from going there?"

"No," she wearily smiles a little this time. "Once Dante has his mind set on something it's pretty difficult to stop him. Besides… he's got a score to settle with David."

Joseph frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's… a personal matter for him." 

Her eyes make contact with his. It is then that Joseph realizes how sincere her pain and frustration is. This isn't the look of some liar. Otherwise, this woman is one heck of an actress. But it seems true and to the heart. And… his instincts say so too. They've never been wrong before, have they?

"I'm sorry I can't tell you any more than that," Trish gently whispers, "But you've got to believe Dante. We're here to help."

"I truly would like to believe that."

Trish swallows hard. She's got to give Joseph a little more insight if she hopes for him to leave it alone. And at the same time, not give out TOO much information.

"Dante and I are a part of an independent agency. We're private investigators who investigate super natural forces such as this," Trish starts.

"Super natural forces…? So you mean you've dealt with this situation before?"

"Many times, yes." Trish retrieves a small card from the back pocket of her leather pants. She hands it over to him so he can get a good observation of it.

Joseph checks the card. It's a company card with the words 'Devil Never Cry' imprinted on it. Sure enough, he sees Dante's and the woman's names printed there as well. An agency? An agency that actually looks into the supernatural? How very odd…

"So you came here to deal with the mysterious forces currently spewing here?" he asks while still looking down at the card.

"Yes."

He takes a moment. "And how did you know about our little 'problem' here?"

Trish hesitates before answering that question. Truthfully, neither Dante nor she knew about the demons residing here. If not for Socrates and the Book of the Dead they probably would've never found out.

"Honestly, Joseph, we had no idea until we arrived here," she admits. "We came here to seek out David. We had no idea he had two others with him. Nor did we know about you guys and your problems here."

Joseph's eyes search Trish's, hoping to gain some newly found knowledge. Whoever they are, they're not the people Natiche has made them out to be. Besides, he should be a bit grateful. If what the woman says is true then Dante and his friends have decided to devote their obligation in, not only seeking David out, but to help them as well. Joseph nods understandingly. 

"Maybe you DID know about it. Maybe you were destined to help us without even knowing it," he starts. "You might be the salvation we have prayed for."

Trish doesn't say anything. Rather, she smiles warmly.

"All right… I believe you, Trish. I believe you're here to help. I may not know everything about you all or your reason for being here. But… I'll take my chances. You have my trust, child. And if battle should come, you have my strength as well."

Trish feels relieved. While the other villagers have been skeptical, Joseph is the only one giving them the benefit of doubt. It's vital they preserve his trust. Otherwise, everything will be lost, possibly Dante's mother and brother.

"Thank you, Joseph. That means a lot."

He sighs, "Tonight after the dinner I'll help Dante and Socrates prepare for their journey."

"He'll appreciate that."

"But I do have one last question for you."

"Go ahead and shoot it out."

"Once your friends come back, what will happen then?" Joseph asks.

"Hopefully they've put a stop to David." 

"And if they don't?"

"If they don't… we'll need to find a faster way out of here," she replies and equips the last arrow now blessed with holy water back into place. It makes a loud 'ka-chunk' sound. "…With our own lives if necessary."

            "I think that about does it," Socrates cheerfully says as both him and Dante secure the rope around the last piece of fence.

            It's late in the afternoon and they've only completed the fence on the west side of the village. The one in the east still needs work and will probably take a good two hours to finish. Still, the west fence was the hardest to erect. It's also the most vital area of the village since it acts as the main entrance. It's been first initial attack since the day David arrived.

            "I hope so," Dante replies a bit tired.

            He looks up at the extremely long fence. At the upper tips of the west fence are barbwires with sharp knives entangled throughout to make for a more defense system. In his opinion, it won't stand a chance against enemies like Frosts. But this fence is certainly better than how things used to be. It should at least lower the deaths here. Not all demons are that bright anyway, he grins humorously.

            "You look like shit," he suddenly hears Socrates say out of the blue.

            Dante cocks an eyebrow at his use of words. Surprised. Socrates just shrugs.

            "Hey, after being around you for awhile, I'm getting to build up on my up-to-date vocabulary."

            Dante wants to laugh but, instead, winds up yawning.

            "Seriously, Dante, get some rest. You can use it."

            "I'll rest when David rests," he's about to say something else but finds himself yawning again. Seconds later, he sneezes. Crap, please tell him he's not catching a cold now!

            It's not like him to be like this, to be so tired and worn out. Then again, that nasty fever did take its toll on him and he worked a helluva lot today. This chilly weather doesn't make things any better for him either. He's not as fit as he usually is. Maybe he'll work out later on, at least to get himself juiced up or something.

            "Let's do a sweep and make sure the fences are secure enough," he suggests to Socrates.

            "I've a better idea, let ME work on that while you get some rest. And take a bath while you're at it. You smell."

            Dante sniffs in one of his armpits. He grins. "I smell great. Nothing cologne can't fix."

            "Ugh, it's a wonder how Trish puts up with you," Socrates rolls his eyes.

            "Whatever."

            "C'mon, Dante. I'm being serious. For once, stop being so stubborn. Don't you want to be in full shape when we arrive at the mountains?"

            "Yeah. And speaking of which, when exactly are we going?"

            "I'm thinking at tonight."

            "Tonight?" Dante raises an eyebrow.

"Yes. We still got a limit despite the Bangle of time and the time change between the past and present. The faster we arrive the faster we can help your mother and brother, right?"

Dante nods, fully understanding. And besides? What's the big deal? He ain't afraid of the dark. And he sure as hell ain't afraid of tackling any gruesome demon that might pop out of the forest to get them. He better do as Socrates suggested. He needs to be in full capacity. He can't afford to get sick and tired right now.

"All right. So where's a tub I can use?"

"Right there," Socrates points across where a cabin, the size of a storage room, sits.

"You're kidding, right?" Dante glances at the cabin with a bit a disappointment.

"No. That's the tub the village uses. In summer and springtime, they bath in the river while in the winter they use those tubs. There're about three of them around but one of them is currently being used while the second broke down yesterday. It only has cold water running."

The devil hunter sighs.

"You better get to that one before someone else does," advises Socrates.

Dante gazes at the cabin again, shaking his head left to right. After standing still for a second or so, he heads for it.

"By the way," Socrates calls out, "Dinnertime is around 6:00pm, so be ready by then."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…"

            Dante yawns tiredly as he walks to the cabin Socrates refers to. He enters the empty and dimly lighted cabin that reflects a yellow-brown color. All that occupies it is a large tub made of wood with metal rings to keep it stable. It's at the center of the room, taking up most of the space. The steaming hot water causes each of the cabin's windows to become misty. Someone must've put in hot water for the next user. Someone please bless the Samaritan who did that he thinks to himself. Dante finds a towel and some clean clothes hanging on a rack nearby. The clothes come in all sizes but they definitely don't make a fashion statement. It's the same-o stuff he sees people wearing. Flannel shirts and pants. Gosh, what a nightmare.

He approaches one of the windows. He clears it with his fist, trying to get a good visual outside. It's darker than before. The ghostly trees wave back and forth. Some of the trees are close to the cabin. Their branches scrape against the window creating eerie sounds. Tiny snowflakes begin to fall, swaying and gliding before touching ground. Dante swallows hard, suddenly reminded of the terrible dream he had. 

He turns away from the window and walks toward a large shelf attached to a wall. It contains several bars of white soap. He takes one of them and starts to toss it up and down with a hand. This may not be a Four Points Hotel, he thinks to himself, but it's sure better than some of the dumps he's been to. Even better, he's got first dibs on the tub. Meaning, he won't have to worry about finding pubic hairs or some other shit from the last person occupying it. Ah, the luxuries of being a demon slayer. And being first in line…

Unbuttoning his flannel shirt, he walks near the wooden-made tub and throws the shirt onto the floor. Yawning again, he sits at the ledge of the tub to unlace his boots. It's been a long and hard day for him. His muscles are aching from the recent workout he had and his stomach is currently demanding food. Whoever said chopping down trees and setting up defenses was an easy job apparently needs to get their ass whooped. 

Dante carelessly flings his worn-out boots toward a wall. They smack hard against the wall before finally kissing the floor. He mumbles something underneath his breath when he undoes his pants, using a tone that's a mixture of exhaustion and hunger. He can only hope that tonight's dinner is well worth this waiting. How these people can wait this long for food after a hard day's work is just beyond him.

Naked now, he carefully places one leg into the steaming tub. His face winces a bit, feeling how hot it is. Eventually, however, the silvered haired man allows his body to take in the weight of heat. His face relaxes. Once it does, he puts the second foot inside the water. Slowly and carefully, Dante settles down until he's completely consumed by hot, misty water. 

The devil hunter moans in bliss, his aching muscles growing numb all over and going slack at the same time. If this isn't heaven then he doesn't know what is. Oh, if only he could stay here forever. All he'd need then would be a bottle of the finest whine around, some decent food like, say, a well done T-bone steak, and a large television screen to watch his NFL sports and music videos. Now that would be something, wouldn't it? 

Taking the soap he took from the shelf, he starts to apply water to it. The clear water becomes a blurry white color as the bar of soap contaminates it. He looks at it, somewhat sad. Soaps are clean and strong, but put them in water long enough and eventually they'll melt away. 

Once the soap is thoroughly wet, Dante lifts the bar of soap from the water and uses it to scrub away any sweat and grime on his skin. First, he glides it across his chest, then to his face. It feels cool and refreshing. And good. It's been awhile since he's taken a long, good bath. Even back at home he was always rushed. Just when he was about to enjoy himself, the phone would ring with some urgent call from so-and-so who then demanded this-and-that. 

Gosh, how long has it been? He can't really remember. Though, there were some good times in the past, when he was practically a baby. Mom had him and Vergil take baths in the tub at the same time. She brought them their favorite toys as well as filled the tub with those fun soap bubbles. She'd give him his naval ship and Vergil his annoying-but-ever-so-adored rubber ducky toy. Of course, his naval ship always kicked that rubber ducky in the ass since it came with a squirting gun. Ha, those were some funny moments there. Those were the moments where he'd like to relive again. Too bad there aren't many of those these days.

Everything's been on the flipside from the start. His visit to Mallet Island, in fact, had brought back painful memories. The moment Trish entered his place and told him what was going on he knew that the Mallet Island mission would be different from all the demon hunts he'd been to. Yes, Mallet Island had brought him painful memories. But even worse, Mallet Island brought him a man who, to this very moment, continues to haunt his mind. Nelo Angelo.

He knew from the get-go that there was something… familiar about that demon knight. The way he moved, the way he fought, to even the way he made him feel… He kept telling himself that he was just imagining things but once Nelo unmasked himself for their final fight, everything was revealed. Nelo had Vergil's face… It was his brother! At first, he assumed that Mundus had simply cloned his brother in the same manner he cloned his mother by creating Trish. But Nelo Angelo was different, wasn't he? Not only did Nelo bear the amulet their mother gave to them on their birthday, but he was also… struggling against himself. Twice did Nelo have the chance to kill him, and yet, he stopped. It was as if he was fighting his own inner demons. Did Mundus take Vergil's soul and twisted it to make Nelo Angelo? Did he kill his own brother? Did he actually kill him BY HIS OWN HAND? 

Deep down Dante knows the answer to that. And it kills him. Looking up at the ceiling, he finally realizes it all. He's got to make things right again. He couldn't help Vergil in Mallet Island. But now… he's got a second chance to. He has the power to finally free his soul, away from devils like Mundus and David. He will do EVERYTHING to make sure of that. And hopefully, one day, Vergil will forgive him for what he had done.

He sighs and resumes moving the bar of soap over his body, trying to rinse himself clean even though they'll always be specks of dirt on him. No matter how much you try to clean it away, it'll always be there. The only thing a person can do is to keep that speck of dirt from growing and consuming everything. 

As Dante thinks of that, he glides the soap across his forearm. He stops for a moment. Hesitant. The awkward symbol sits there. Watching him. Unwilling to be washed away.

Dante blinks, seeing the symbol almost shine under the dim lighting of the room. Slowly, his hand touches it. In some twisted, confusing way, he seems to admire it. Its fine lines create such an extravagant piece of artwork. Never before has he seen a tattoo like this. It's simple yet complicated at the same time. How in the world did he get this? When? Could his dream have anything to do with it? Even so, how can a dream do that unless someone put it there while he was asleep? There are so many questions… so many gaps to be filled. 

His face frowns abruptly when he notices the veins surrounding his wrist beginning to move. They move like ripples in water. Slowly, making their movement appear grotesque. Dante touches one of these veins, touching it curiously. He sees that some of them have turned black. The lighting of the room makes these dark veins visible to him. Emotionlessly, Dante lifts up his index finger. He extends the nail, making it turn jet-black. With this nail, he slices off one of the dark veins. Black blood squirts out, spilling all over his wrist. Dante's face winces a bit in disgust but continues watching it, not fully understanding this. His blood has always been red. It'd turn blue when he devil triggered. Never, however, has it turned black like this. Could his body still be sick? Then again, why do these dark veins only appear in his wrist and nowhere else? Weird.

Three drops of black blood splash onto the water. Before he can see anything else, his broken vein starts to heal itself. Covering everything, including any answers. Dante doesn't bother tearing another vein. Instead, he restores his fingernail to normal and rests the back of his head against the ledge of the tub. He closes his eyes.

"What is happening to me?" he whispers to himself.

He stays there like that, unwilling to move. His eyes feel drowsy and his body feels dead. Yet, he can sense the water surrounding him, touching his body and protecting him with its heat. It's like he's a baby again, inside his mother's womb. He's helpless, feeding off of anything given to him and absorbing anything offered to him. Life is simple when you're a baby. It's not so complicated when you can't talk, let alone, think for yourself.

The cabin's door opens and a cold breeze enters the room. This causes Dante's eyes to snap awake. Buddha. What the fuck? Will someone close the damn door? It's freezing in here!

His eyebrows ark a bit when he finds a dark figure standing at the door's entrance. It's a woman by the looks of her shape. She's dressed in a long and dark robe. The hood of her robe is currently over her head. Since she bows her head down, her face is a little more than shadows and curves. The concealed woman makes little sound as she enters the room. Her bare feet are the only things that are visible from her. Bare feet? In this cold weather?

"Yo, you mind waitin' until I finish, baby?" Dante tells her, "I'm almost done."

The woman remains silent. She stops after one step later and remains there for a long time. Even the chilly air that comes from the open door appears to have frozen in place as well. Dante observes this a little strangely.

"At least close the door behind you. It's cold in here. Get my drift, darlin'?"

It's not like he ain't a gentleman. If the woman wants the tub now, fine. Hell, he won't have any problems sharing it with her if she turns out to be a Carmen Electra look-alike. Still, she should close the door. He just had a serious case of pneumonia for Buddha's sake. 

Dante looks at her, more carefully, realizing that she doesn't make any effort to move. Maybe it's because she doesn't understand English.

"Babe?" he asks and gestures a finger toward the door. "Door? Close? Understand?"

Still no answer. Her body remains stationed in place. Her face, hidden. Dante mumbles a curse word and stretches his arm out to reach the towel on the rack near him. 

"Fine," he mutters and adds sarcastically, "I'm leavin'. Here you go. Have 'fun' while I freeze my ass off. Could you AT LEAST turn 'round so I can get dressed?"

Finally, the woman moves. She walks to the side of the tub and grabs the towel before Dante can get it. At first, Dante thinks the woman is being polite by offering to give him his towel. Instead, she takes it, walks to the open door, and throws it outside. She chuckles amusingly. She finally closes the door and resumes watching Dante in her awkward stance.

"Hey, what's your problem, woman?" the distressed devil hunter begins and sinks back into the water to conceal his forbidden body part, "Give me my towel. Now! I already said that I'm leavin'."

The woman laughs. Dante's eyes narrow coldly. No, this woman can understand him just fine. It's this bullshit attitude of hers that's making things difficult.

"Who are you?" Dante demands. "And what are you doing here?"

"I'm a humble servant of yours, of course, whom only wishes to do your bidding."

Dante's mouth opens the moment the woman speaks. He recognizes that voice!

Siren's eyes rise amusingly as she moves her hands over the hood of the robe. The silky hood falls comfortably over her shoulders like a second skin peeled away. Her blazing red hair spews out the moment Siren unveils herself. A large strand of hair covers her left eye. She brushes it away and takes a step forward.

"Did you miss me, my love?"

"Stop calling me that, you psychotic bitch," Dante starts and reaches for his pants on the ledge of the tub. He removes a switchblade inside his pants' pocket.

"No need for that," Siren inserts. Her hand makes a small gesture. The switchblade flings away from Dante's grasp. The blade hits and penetrates into the far left wall of the room where it remains there.

"Get out of here before I -"

Dante is cut off the moment Siren takes off her robe. Nothing lies beneath the cloth she wears except for her gorgeous nude body. Her breasts are full, nipples perked and both pierced with metal rings. A heart tattoo is embodied on the left one, located at the exact spot where her heart lies beneath. There's another tattoo, this time on the thigh of her right leg. It's an image of a demon, grinning devilishly. Its eyes laugh in a maniacal way. Dante's own eyes wander there, near her thigh. A part of him hopes to forbid him from seeing anything further from that tattoo but the sight of Siren stirs an erotic sensation. He can't help but to allow his sexual curiosity to explore the rest of this woman's flesh. Her attractive facial features. Her slender arms. Her long legs. Her womanhood. Everything about her is perfect.

Siren walks toward the tub, soon getting inside. One long leg enters with the other following closely. Dante sits motionless, unable to move as Siren edges close to him.

Siren's rosy lips curve sensually while she slowly moves against the hot water, closing the distance between her object of affection and herself. When she's only an inch away, she wraps her slender arms around Dante's neck.

"Get off me," is all Dante can say.

Yet, before he can push her away, Siren manages to slip her tongue into his mouth. 

"No," he mumbles, hoping to fight his bodily urges.

"How long has it been?" she pulls away from her kiss and gently bites on the earlobe of his ear. "How long has it been since you've touched a woman? Or, for that matter, allow a woman to touch you? I am not talking about all your past girlfriends, one-night stands, or your other little whores. I am talking about… a special type of woman. One in which you can stare into her face and realize, with absolute clarity, that you mean the world to her." 

Siren looks deep into Dante's white-blue eyes. One of her hands strokes his silver hair while the other moves below, in the water. Her face angles itself sideways to observe more of Dante and his change of expression as he moans softly. Dante can't help but to feel lost in her beautiful gaze. Her burning eyes, alone, can summon the demon within.

"I see you as the center of my universe, Dante," she continues in a tender voice. Her hand's grip on Dante's penius becomes a bit aggressive. "I would be willing to kill or die for you. If you asked me to slit my own throat, I'd do it. If you told me to summon the rain, I would. If you ordered me away, I'd go. Love me, Dante. Love me back. That's all I ask in return."

Dante moans again once Siren's hold on him becomes harder. This is dangerous, he knows, and there's no telling what will come from it. The switchblade isn't that far away. He can push this woman off and get to it. End of story. Or maybe he can just punch Siren in the face. Thereby, making her go unconscious. But didn't mom say good boys don't hit girls? Whatever. Or, heaven forbid, he could just call out for some assistance. He's sure that there's enough people here who hold a grudge against Siren. They'll take care of this woman.

His mind devises several other scenarios, each estimating their outcomes. However, he makes no effort to execute them. Worse, he has no desire to do so. It's as if his mind is still working but his body isn't complying. It's on strike. If anything, it wants nothing more than to have Siren continue supplying it with pleasure. He moans again, louder this time as his eyes roll back, feeling ever more stirred as Siren increases her hand's rhythm.

Siren's face moves closer, ready to embrace Dante's lips again. Their lips hungrily move over each other, moving rapidly as if they are trying to find some correct combination. Dante holds her tightly close to him; feeling Siren's full bosom press against his chest. One hand moves to cup one of her breasts. Siren kisses his chin before moving her lips across his neck, nibbling off of it.

"I love you so much," she hastily says, excited by this heat of passion.

Dante doesn't reply. Instead, he begins to suck on one of Siren's breasts, his tongue playfully tugging at the nipple piercing. His hand pulls on her hair hard, his intense craze wanting liberation. Before he can, however, Siren pulls away and sinks into the water. Dante grins, watches her face slowly disappear beneath. He waits for her to surface or, he hopes, until he feels a new type of sexual gratification. A moment passes and nothing. Another second. Still nothing. Is this some kind of fetish stunt?

Bubbles begin to emerge from the water. He blinks, watching them appear fast and faster as the seconds add. Dante is about to say something until the water bubbles turn red. Blood.

"What… the… FUCK?"

Several more red bubbles emerge where Siren sank herself. The blood starts to spill throughout the tub, soon covering it entirely. He starts to get up but hands appear from beneath the water, all decayed and torn to the bone. They desperately reach out and grab him. Their nails tear into his flesh delivering a new meaning to agony. 

The hands start to pull him into the water but he struggles against it, cursing. He reaches and grabs onto the tub's ledge, trying to use it to lift himself out. More hands extend from the bloody water. Two of them manage to grab his ankles, soon dragging the hunter downward.

"No! Hell no!" Dante protests and tries to use the tub ledge for support again.

Water bubbles emerge again and this time, something surfaces. Dante's body grows stunned. Trish's head pops up, her eyes rolled back and showing only white. His slippery fingers let go of the ledge and Dante is pulled below. Underwater, Dante's eyes sting from the blood and soap. He moves aggressively, trying to shake away the hands tearing at him. His head jerks up when one of the hands begins to gut his stomach. As he struggles to break free, his eyes catch the sight of a shadow figure above the water. The figure currently looks down at him. He's dark and tall. He's never seen him before but feels that he has.

"Wlm'g blf ivnvnyvi dsl r zn?" the gentle man says in a calm voice. Somehow, even in the water, he can hear him. "Wlm'g blf fmwvihgzmw nv? Hllm, blf droo. Hllm, blf droo yv ivylim."

Dante lets out a gurgled cry before any sense can come from the dark figure. Another hand reaches and tears at his neck. A glob of blood spurts out.

Meanwhile, the dark figure stands before the tub. He smiles happily once he sees Dante's head surface. Right next to Trish's.

Dante's body violently jerks up from the water. He gasps for breath, realizing that he just dosed off. And in the water of all places. His eyes are wild as he scans the area left to right, his heart rapidly beating beneath his chest. They quickly search the water, looking for any horrifying hands ready to tear into him. Dream. It was just another dream. Sweet-Jesus-Mother-of-Mercy-and-all-that's-Holy. This is the second time this has happened. 

Dante swallows hard while his eyes continue to study his surroundings. The trees still scrap against the window and the snow still falls. It's quiet here, almost calm and peaceful. The nightmare seems to be the only thing that currently bothers him. It was so real.

The room remains dimly lighted. He stays in the water, unwilling to move. Even if his environment appears safe enough he just can't bring himself in getting out of the tub. Christ, it's like the tub has suddenly become his sanctuary. 

The warmth of the room embraces him back to the world. Everything, from the stirring of the wind outside, appears normal. But is he still dreaming? Or could he just have awakened from one? His questions are cut short once the cabin's door opens. There it goes again, like last time. He halfway expects a woman in a robe to appear. Instead, however, there's an old Indian woman there, carrying a lighted lamp in one hand. She's around her late seventies. Her back is slanted into a hunch and her overall body is nothing but rich brown skin and bones.

"Are you all right?" the old woman asks, her voice scratchy and barely audible.

"Am I still dreaming?" he responds in a daze.

"No… I heard you screaming," the woman advances further into the room. She stops midway. The lighting from the lamp reflects a concerned expression on her aged face. "Are you… all right?"

Dante swallows hard and thinks about the dream he just had. It didn't make any real sense. Just who in the hell was that dark guy and what was he talking in? Strange that the language is both foreign but familiar to him.

Ivylim… What does 'ivylim' mean?

"Are you all right?" the old woman asks again, more alarmed than previously.

He runs a hand across his wet hair, "I wish I were, lady."

The devil hunter looks around, not sure if he's still dreaming or not. The dream had Siren trying to seduce him into submission. He can only guess she's using sex to gain his trust. And not only that, she's screwing with his head too. The dreams appear as normal as right now. In fact, who's to say that he's still not slumbering right at this moment? Is the old woman real? Is this cabin real? Maybe he's really asleep and thinking about his own dreaming in this dream he's having right now. Or maybe what happened before really happened and right now he's asleep thinking that it didn't happen when, in reality, it probably did happen. Whatever. These 'maybes' are giving him a headache.

"Excuse me," the old woman replies softly, "but dinner is ready. Do you want more time? Or do you want some rest?"

"No," scoffs Dante and reaches for the towel on the rack nearby, "I've had enough rest to last me into the next lifetime."

            In an old-fashioned-made kitchen, Socrates inhales the tasty smell of soup. His eyes are closed and he makes an awkward, goofy grin. Just smelling this food makes his stomach grumble. If it tastes as good as it smells then tonight's dinner was definitely worth waiting for. If only he ate this type of food while he was human. Then he'd be as plump as Joseph's wife!

            And speaking about Joseph, he certainly has a large place. Of all the cabins in the village his is the largest. His is also the only one with a diner room that's big enough for at least twenty people, perhaps because he serves as the chief. The rest of the villagers, meanwhile, are in the other small cabins, preparing for a similar feast to theirs. 

It's a wonder, though, why Joseph and his people prefer cabins over modern-day houses. When asked about that, Joseph replied good-naturally that he and his people wanted to relate back to their ancestors. Of course, he chose cabins over tents and caves since he's not as stupid or naïve as some people think he might be. And he preferred to have a 'village' as opposed to separate homes located throughout the area where everyone was possibly vulnerable to the forest and its creatures. At this moment, his decision paid off. Had they lived their lives isolated from one another none of them would be alive today.

Through the kitchen's window, Socrates peers out to see many 'guards'. All of them are men and all appear strong enough to break a truck with their bare hands. They're stationed at each cabin in pairs and are armed with old fashioned rifles. Some of them remain still, frowning at every sound that emerges from the vast forest surrounding their small village. Others, on the other hand, pace back and forth, like lions ready to protect their territory.

Socrates turns away from the view, feeling uneasy. Instead, his eyes roam around the kitchen. The table located at the center of the kitchen is filled with food. Bread. Fruit. Mash potatoes. Corn. Three types of meat. Soup. Wine. Water. Soda. Almost everything conceivable. It's like it is Thanksgiving or a celebration of some sort. But, he also thinks sadly, it could just as well be the type of feast a prisoner is given before their execution.

Trish enters the kitchen area but stands still when she notices Socrates hutched toward a bowl of soup on the center table. Her eyebrows rise in a bit of amusement. She later makes a face, especially when Socrates begins to moan in delight each time he inhales the soup's smell. It's times like this that she has to remind herself that Socrates isn't ten years old. She walks past him to grab a large spoon on the counter to stir the bowl of mash potatoes with.

"I had no idea you were such a great cook," Socrates smiles once he sees her.

She chuckles. "Naw. Joseph's wife and her friends did most of the cooking. I'm just helping them out while they fix the table."

"How long have you been here?"

"Not long. I came about half an hour ago. I finished our weapons inventory checklist way before but I decided to teach Joseph and some others how to use the weapons afterwards. I spent my day going through it by the numbers. Most of them knew how to handle a shotgun so that helped me out a bit. It was teaching them how to handle an automatic that was the tricky part. But they're fast learners," she nods and looks up from the bowl of the mash potatoes. "And you? What did you and Dante do? Did Dante get any rest?"

"No. He was helping me secure the perimeter."

"Stubborn bastard."

Socrates shrugs and offers a timid smile. "Hey, I tried my best to get his butt back into bed but he wouldn't listen to me."

            "I know. He likes to do things his own way, even if he pays for it later on. That's Dante. Hey, could you make sure that gravy is still hot?"

"Will do."

As Socrates complies Trish's watches him in silence. Something's been on her mind for awhile since she paired up with Joseph to do the checklist. She already knows that Socrates and Dante have agreed to go get the book together. Thus, the question remains: when? She's still a little pissed that she's no longer a part of their 'plan.' Dante could've at LEAST told her what Socrates and him were discussing earlier this morning. So what if she's left behind? It still doesn't mean she can't know the details of what he and Socrates plan to do in order to reach the mountains.

"So have you decided?" Trish asks narrowly, trying not to sound frustrated even if she is.

"Excuse me?" Socrates asks over his shoulder, still checking the gravy.

"When you leave. Have you decided when you and Dante are leaving?"

"Yeah."

Trish waits for him to continue but he doesn't. He's too busy test-tasting the gravy. In fact, he doesn't even see the face Trish makes. Trish sets down the spoon and crosses her arms together.

"So is this how it's going to be?" she blares out loud. "Is it my turn to be left in the dark like everyone else here?"

"Trish?" Socrates turns to face her, realizing the stiff tone Trish uses. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean 'what's wrong'?" she mocks half frustrated. "You're keeping things from me that's what."

"Things? Trish, what are you talking about?"

"I thought we had an understanding," Trish replies, regaining her calm manner as she explains her small outburst right now. "You both would go but you'd make it your effort to keep me informed too."

Socrates finally understands.

"Just tell me when you and Dante plan to leave," Trish leans against the counter with her full attention at Socrates. "You and Dante were talking about this earlier on, am I correct?"

He nods a yes answer but doesn't say anything else, afraid that she might get second thoughts of staying behind if he says something she doesn't like.

Trish sighs. "Look, I'm perfectly fine with me staying behind. But I don't like the idea of being in the dark. I need to know what's going on so I can prepare for it."

"I know. And I'm… sorry for not letting you in on what we're up to."

"No need to be. Just tell me what's up. What were you two talking about?"

"About the route we should take to the mountains, that's about it."

"And?"

"Well, after hearing about this burial ground, I got the idea that we should take the east area. That way, we won't have much trouble getting to the mountains."

"But Dante…" Trish begins, "He's part demon…"

"Yeah, he told me that he might have trouble getting through that area himself but he's agreed to take this route anyway."

"It's a dangerous game," Trish nods. "But one that needs to be played."

"We'd like to head for the mountains later tonight. That way, we can get a jumpstart on things. We also won't have to worry about the others in the village following us since they'll be too scared to follow."

Trish doesn't say anything. 

"I don't like it," she abruptly states after awhile.

"What's there to like?" Socrates sighs. "This might be the end of us all. Either way, we're in some pretty deep shit… as Dante would colorfully put it."

Trish faces the bowl of mash potatoes. Looking at it but not really. Jesus, if it's not one thing, it's another. What's next?

"I suppose you're right. Are you sure… I can't tag along? Maybe-"

"No," he replies calmly, "You're better off staying here, Trish. And it's not like you can help us out when we travel the east route. Dante's got enough human in him to prevent him from self combusting. You, on the other hand-"

"I'm pure devil," she cuts him off with a hint of despair. "I'm just a devil whose true form is concealed by the face of Dante's mother…"

A moment of silence. Her eyes lower a bit. Socrates rests a hand on her shoulder.

"No. You're more than that, Trish," he comments softly. "You've got a heart."

"No, I don't," she shakes her head, "Look at me. I'm… disgusting. Even Dante told me I have no soul at one point."

"That's not true…"

"But it is," she shrugs, trying to hold back a tear in her eye. "I'm nothing more than a clone of Eva. A shell. No matter how many times I try to act human, I'll never be human."

She turns her back on Socrates and resumes stirring the mash potatoes.

"Joseph and the rest of the gang are prepping the table right now," Trish states rather dead. "Why don't you give them a hand, wing boy, and eat something? You don't want to go head-to-head with some demon you find in the woods on an empty stomach."

"Sure." He nods slowly. "Trish…"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. Please. Let's just… leave it at this."

"All right." He waits a long time, making sure Trish might have second thoughts. After awhile, he gives up and decides to change the subject. "Is Dante coming? It's been over an hour since he went to take a bath. I came by the cabin fifteen minutes ago and knocked on the door. Dante wasn't there."

Trish resumes stirring the mash potatoes. "Relax. Where there's food there'll be Dante. I only hope the darn pig minds his table manners. He can eat half this stuff here. We'll have to watch him carefully."

Socrates laughs, nervously but enough to hopefully brighten up the mood here. "Guy must have a big appetite."

"Sheeit, you're telling me. Half the money goes into the Devil Never Cry franchise while the rest goes into Dante's stomach." Trish manages to grin a little.

"I wasn't aware that you have to pay to keep Devil Never Cry."

"Of course we do. That's what all businesses have to do. I mean… there's that no-good-for-nothing building we have to rent out from a landlord who's a complete bitch. She gets on us every chance she gets. Or should I say, on Dante every chance she gets. And then there are the taxes, travel expenses, and Dante's informants, and all that other crap."

"Dante has informants?"

"I've never met them but yeah. One's a cop who's gotten Dante off some nasty situations. The others, well, I'm not sure what they do but they appear legit and important enough considering how much Dante pours into their pockets when he needs 'em. The guy has informants everywhere. America. Japan. Australia. Germany. England. Africa. Brazil. Alaska. Russia. You name it, wing boy."

"And they're all aware of the existence of demons and such?"

"Yeah."

"How interesting."

"Interesting that the knowledge of demons is well known?" Trish wants to know, "Interesting that Dante has informants? Or interesting that he has to PAY to have friends in the first place?"

The two laugh, knowing how Dante rarely gets along with others because of his macho attitude and poor people skills.

"He really is something, isn't he?" Socrates nods a bit.

"Yeah. He is. What's weird is that he's considering of changing the name of Devil Never Cry back to its original name. I've no idea why he wants to though."

"What name was it before?"

"Devil May Cry."

"Nice name," Socrates grins.

Natiche watches the people gathering in his father's cabin in silence. It's like old times when he was a kid. During the winter they'd gather like a flock, preparing for the great feast. But what's so great about today when you've got demons ready to slaughter you off? In fact, why bother doing any of this bullshit? It's not like it's going to matter anyway. Most of them aren't even going to make it. Half of the villagers are already dead or missing. In about a day or two this place will probably be a ghost town. He picked a helluva time to come back.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you eat with us like this, Natiche," an old woman startles him from behind a doorway and inserts in her native language.

"Oh, I didn't see you there, Nana," he answers back with the same language, though his accent is off and strained. It's been a long time since he's had to speak in his native tongue. "Nice to see you here."

"Don't you mean, 'nice to see that you're still alive'?" the old woman cracks a wicked laugh directed at her own joke.

"Still witty as usual, Nana. No doubt about that."

"I suppose so. With all those blasted demons out there killing our people, you've got to laugh at SOMETHING."

"First the white folks almost wipe us out and now this. Fate MUST be against us."

"Bah! You're so negative."

"It's a part of my charming traits," Natiche shrugs.

The old woman laughs again but stops the moment a white haired man enters the cabin's entrance. Her face grows stiff under all her wrinkles, as if she's seeing a ghost. She looks uncomfortable and swallows hard.

"I don't trust that man…" she whispers loud enough for Natiche to hear.

Natiche looks at her stone-faced. "Me neither. I've been trying to tell my father all day long but the crazy old bastard won't listen."

"He was speaking in a strange tongue while he was asleep," she continues absently, not really hearing a word Natiche just said.

"What?" Natiche asks in surprise. Now she has his full undivided attention.

"Yes," she answers quickly and in great prejudice, "I heard him screaming and causing such a commotion as I was walking back to my cabin to tend to my granddaughter. I investigated it, of course. He was speaking the same tongue those… DEMONS talk."

"You said he was talking like them?"

"Yes!" exclaims the old woman in a mixture of fear and astonishment. Her wrinkled small hands clutch tightly onto her blouse. The old woman's eyes narrow cruelly at the white haired man. "He sounded like he was possessed by them. When he talked… it was like a thousand of terrifying voices were speaking at the same time."

"And when he woke up? What happened?"

"Nothing. The voices went and he began speaking normally and in English. I tell you, Natiche, that man can NOT be trusted."

"No, he can't be." Natiche stares at the man standing at the door's entrance. 

His eyes grow cold. He must be with those demons. Otherwise, how can he speak their language? He was right all along! Now if only he can get some evidence to prove his point. He's already got an eye witness. Now all he needs is something more solid. This man cannot be trusted. He and his friends are just like David and his companions. For all he knows, they could be here to spy on them! And when least expected, David can attack them head-on with the help of these spies. Where else can you find a weak spot but right here, in the heart of the village?

Dante remains near the door's entrance, half weary and half hungry. It's not unusual for him to get hungry so fast and often. After all, he is part devil. Devils have an unusually large appetite. He's just fortunate enough to have the type of appetite that prefers hamburgers and pizza over live flesh and blood. Still… there are those times when…

Did his father have such similar cravings as him? He was pure demon after all. Surely, there was a time when he ate… No, he couldn't have. Could he? He chuckles to himself, realizing how naïve he's become. Or would like to be, at least. His father was a great man but there's no such thing as being absolutely perfect and innocent. Despite his father's ability to choose humanity over his own kind, there was eventually a point in his life where he embraced his demon ways. Exactly what he did to embrace it he'll never know. But then again, this trip to retrieve the Book of the Dead might shred some light.

Since the get-go, this small journey has left him with butterflies in his stomach. There's a strong chance he'll see his father. If he does, what will he do or say? It's not like he can tell Sparda that he's his son. And what if he happens to stumble into that era where his father was anything but humane. In fact, what if he sees him in his worse times? He'd much rather not. He grew up hearing inspiring actions his father did. His mother practically painted him as a saint. He doesn't want anything to change that vision.

Dante ignores all the strange stares he gets the moment he walks into the large and crowded dining room. He wonders why they look at him in such a way but decides to simply ignore it when he sees Joseph and Socrates approach him.

"Hey, Dante," Socrates is the first to speak, "I was beginning to get worried. I thought you'd never show up."

"You know me. I love to make an entrance." Dante yawns tiredly, his eyes sleepy.

"You want to go get some rest, Dante?" chuckles Socrates at the sight of this, "I can bring food to your room when you're ready to eat."

"Nah. That's all right, wing boy. I'm starving as it is. 'Sides, me sleeping is the reason why I'm like this."

"Bad dreams?" a worried face roams over Socrates' face.

"Yeah. They keep getting worse each time."

"I might have something that can help you," Joseph replies. "Come with me."

Dante hesitates before complying. Socrates, however, eagerly follows Joseph out of the dining room and into a small and very narrow wooden-made hallway. At the end of it is an opening leading to a room of some sort. Dante purses his lips. He finally decides to follow them since he's had enough of the whispers emerging from the people weary of his presence here.

Soon the three men enter, what appear to be, Joseph's personal chambers. It's large and dimly lighted due to the surrounding candles that flicker about. Afar from the smell of lumber, Joseph's chambers actually looks like a room one would usually see in a modern-day home. There's a small handmade bed stand beside Joseph's bed. Curtains made of some creature, most likely from a bear, cover the windows. A large barreled rifle is hung next to a trophy head of an animal on a wall. And at the far corner is a small room currently concealed by a beaded curtain, most likely a closet. The room feels warm, a perfect nesting place for just about anyone. 

Dante notices a radio on the bed stand and strolls next to it. He picks it up and soon realizes that it's a portable radio that uses AA batteries. It's pretty funny that this radio reminds him how far away he is from his own modern day life right now. It seems like an eternity here and he feels somewhat isolated from the world. Still, he shouldn't be too haste to be uncomfortable in this type of surrounding. Rarely could he take the time to listen to the silence of the wind in the city. And rarely could he truly appreciate the lovely things Earth inhabits.

"I was given the impression that you folks didn't have radios here," Dante notes out loud, "Or anything modern, for that matter."

"We take only the things needed to survive out here and leave everything else behind. But that radio happens to belong to my son, Natiche," Joseph states. "He brought it with him when he decided to come home. My son's from the city."

"Figures. Only a city boy could carry out an attitude like him." Dante smirks a bit as he turns on the radio. 

In the meantime, Joseph disappears in his closet while Socrates joins Dante.

"Picking up anything?"

"Yeah," Dante replies and quickly smiles.

The radio manages to pick-up a heavy rock station that currently plays out a fast tempo song. The guitars blare out loud while the drums bang twice as fast. Dante bobs his head to the beat of it. Eyes closed. Damn, he LOVES this song!

"C'mon," Socrates complains, "Pick another station. Most of those words aren't even a language. Give me it."

Socrates manages to snatch the radio away before Dante can protest. Socrates turns the knob until he picks up a jazz station. Unlike the song playing previously, the guitars here play slow while the drums have a steady tempo to correspond with the saxophone's rhythm.

"Now THIS sounds cool," Socrates comments. "Now this is music."

"No, it sounds more like the type of music you'd hear in a cheap porn video. I've seen plenty to know." 

Dante grabs the radio again to put it on the previous station he had it on.

"Here it is," Joseph abruptly says from behind the two men. He approaches Dante with something in his hands.

Dante puts the radio on the nightstand in order to take a better look at the object in Joseph's hands. He realizes that it's a small beaded necklace. At the center of it is an oval shape bead, larger than any of the others. It feels smooth and has a vanilla color to it. Pure and clean.

"This should ward off all those dreams you're having, Dante," Joseph raises it to eye-level so Dante can see it clearly.

"Sort of like a dream weaver?"

"Yes," Joseph hands it over to Dante. "But it also wards off evil. Since the attacks we've created several of these necklaces. We've called upon our ancestors, so that their souls may be temporarily trapped in these beads. That way, they can protect us."

"Really? How can you be so sure that their souls are in this necklace?" Dante asks skeptically.

"Because of our faith. We believe in it."

Dante takes a long moment of silence before saying anything else. It's obvious that Joseph's and his people's faiths are strong. They're probably stronger than any person he's ever met, in fact. Their faith… it's very inspiring to him.

"Thank you," Dante softly says and puts the necklace on. "I appreciate it."

Joseph is about to respond until he notices the song playing. He frowns. "Is this the type of music you young people are listening to nowadays?"

Dante smiles foolishly. However, the smile fades away once he starts hearing the song more closely. It's his favorite song in the world. He even has the CD of all three versions of it. However, the voice of a woman in the background singing an off-beat melody isn't supposed to be there. In fact, the woman's 'solo' sounds eerily familiar. 

"Something wrong, Dante?" asks Socrates.

"Shut up," Dante whispers and raises up the volume to hear better.

Sure enough, there's the woman's voice singing. At first, it was barely audible but now it seems to be getting louder than before. 

"Could just be static from another station…" says Socrates.

Dante ignores his statement and instead puts the volume at full max. Slowly, an eerily familiar melody plays out loud:

"There once was a love that was strong to hold. Her lover was handsome, sweet, and bold. Then, alas, a storm had come with the ring of a bell. It stole him away and damned her to HELL! She screamed and withered in deep terrifying pain! But her king promised her love again and gave her a cane! And now, a new champion has arrived this wonderful day. Ha! Her love will be renewed and the bitch shall play!"

Dante's mouth grows dry. "Siren…"

Both Joseph and Socrates express a look of fear and take a step away from the radio, afraid that something will come from it.

"Are you out there, my love?" Siren's voice cracks, her voice faint against the heavy rock. "Can you hear me?"

The rock song starts to slow down and becomes seriously distorted, as if it were being played backwards. The song now sounds like something satanic worshippers would listen to.

"I'm coming for you, Dante…" Siren says; her voice frightening.

Dante removes his hand from the radio once he feels the metal suddenly grow hot. Joseph and Socrates turn horrified when they see the radio begin to… bleed. From its hedges to the knobs, to any crack found within the radio, blood spurts out. With anger, Dante smacks the radio off the table it sits on, sending it flying across the room.

"I'm coming for you…" are the last words that come out of the radio.

Up at the rocky edge of a waterfall, Imp looks up into the dark sky. Parts of the snow falling manage to drench him. His long jet black hair becomes beaded with white flakes as well as his clothes. He cares little of that though. Rather, he resumes pondering upward. The stars twinkle about beautifully and sweet. Never before has there been a night as this except… He smiles a bit, remembering the many times he'd look up at the sky to see this wonder as a young boy. 

He spent most of his childhood alone. About the only damn thing his mother ever did for him was feed him. Most of the time, however, he was locked away in the basement with no one to comfort him but the empty sounds of silence. She was afraid of him. She was afraid of WHAT he was. Never once, did she explain why she feared him. All he knew was that he was somehow different from the rest of the boys and girls. In the basement with nothing to do, he'd wait for night to come. There was a small window, half painted and broken, at the far right of basement. He'd stack some boxes on top of each other so that he'd climb on them to see the night. He was content there. At least for awhile. Each day he'd wait for night to fall. Day meant nothing to him. Day was for the living and for him, he was already dead.

In those moments near the window, he often wondered. At age five to six, he'd often wondered what his life could be. At age six to eight, he'd often wondered what his life should be. At age eight to twelve, he'd often wondered about the grim truth of his life. At age twelve to fourteen, he'd often wondered what the point of life was. And finally, at age fifteen, he wondered what the world would be if he wasn't around. The next day after that, he bid the world farewell.

It was almost painless. If not for the continuous spurt of blood coming from his neck, he probably wouldn't have realized he was dying. The glass from the broken window he used still remained in his blood soaked hand when he hit the floor. Part of him cried from emotional pain while the other half cried out of happiness. After all this time… he was finally freed.

It was that fateful day that he finally understood who and what he was. And why his mother feared him so. His temporary stay at hell had taught him the horrifying truth. Rather than stay damned for eternity for committing the greatest sin of all, he was brought back to life by the will of his own father. To many, this would've appeared like he was getting a second chance. But he knew all too well that this was his punishment. He's damned here. He's damned to stay here in this wretched place.

His eyes express a look of desperation and hunger when the night is slowly covered by a red mist, Siren's mist. It paints the dark sky red, hiding the stars and their beauty. He looks down and sighs heavily, his head sagging like a ragged doll. The watch on his left wrist beeps out loud. He raises his head to check it.

"It's almost time." Again, he gazes upward. "Sorry, devil hunter, but things are gonna get really ugly really soon for you. I wish it didn't have to be this way but no one can stop my old man. No one. Not even me…"

Trish is the last one to be seated in the dining room table. The attractive black clad woman warmly smiles at all the people near her, nodding a 'hello' nod to each and every one of them. She's going to be staying with these guys for quite a long time and her assignment here isn't going to be easy. If she has any hope to save these people she's got to be as trustful and friendly to them as possible. She first thought that her staying here was a mistake on Dante's part. Or because she was weak. However, after much thought, it's not as easy as it appears. David will no doubt be sending his demons here. Worse, his son. She's got to do whatever she can to help.

Trish looks around the dining room filled with people. She checks over her shoulder at a large window overlooking several cabins nearby. So far, the guards are standing ready with their watch dogs. They appear calm from here. Perhaps because there hasn't been one assault all day long like the other times. But that's the problem, isn't it? Nothing has happened. No attacks. It's quiet… a little too damn quiet.

Trish makes a quick glance at all the weapons stacked against the wall. Sparda and Alastor are there. If anything should happen tonight then they'll be ready. She returns her attention to the people sitting next to her, trying to tell the worried voice within that everything is going to be all right. She tries to concentrate on the simultaneous conversations going around, but they all revolve about the situation at hand. As much as they would like to ignore the recent events, they can't. Despite their many efforts to live out their remaining time in happiness, all of them are on their toes. 

Meanwhile, Dante looks down at his drink. Socrates and Joseph sit beside him while Natiche and Mani are directly across. The small radio incident didn't really scare him any but it did startle Joseph and Socrates. There's no telling what else Siren will do to get his attention. First the dreams and now this. How far will she go? He's got to get to the book fast. This radio scene was only a minor incident. Next time, though, he might not be so lucky. She might even kill Trish or Socrates or Joseph or anyone else for the sake of her sick games. He can't let that happen. Somehow, he's got to put a cork in that witch's mouth.

Socrates notices the stiff face Dante has on him. He sees similar expressions on many people too. It's the look of agony and, maybe, defeat. These people have been through a lot already. The fact that they can still sit here and pretend everything's okay took an act of courage. He wishes he could do something for them. He wishes to make things livelier. 

"A toast, ladies and gentlemen," Socrates suddenly says and raises his glass to everyone, hoping to lighten up the mood a bit. "A toast to our health and happiness."

Everyone hesitates, not knowing what to do. Most are too caught up in their own world of fear to comprehend the words 'health' and 'happiness'. Even Dante and Trish are a bit surprised by his action. Socrates feels his skin grow blushed hot, feeling like a fool. Of course this is a terrible time to toast to anything! How could he have been so stupid!

Moments later and to his utter surprise, however, a glass is raised.

"To our health and happiness," Joseph replies gently.

Socrates sees the look of optimism in Joseph's face. Once again, the chief guy sees the light in everything. Socrates' blushed face disappears as he sees several more glasses slowly rise. Dante and Trish raise their glass too, both proud to see that hope still lives on.

"To our health and happiness," they all say together.

The awkward mood slowly becomes more comfortable. Most have stopped talking about the 'inevitable'. Likewise, some stiff faces have relaxed.

"If this food smells as great as it tastes, then I'm in for a treat," Socrates inserts cheerfully while the atmosphere is still bright.

Most of the women, the cookers of the meal, respond to the compliment with a blush and a smile. As the people begin to feast on the food, Natiche remains to be skeptical of them all. He observes Dante the most, seeing his every move. Somehow, he's got to reveal this man's true agenda without alienating anyone. Otherwise, they might just label him as being paranoid when, in reality, he couldn't be any more right.

"How's about you tell us more about yourself, Dante," he tries to sound calm and collective.

Dante looks up from his plate. He eyes Natiche most carefully, already seeing what this guy is up to. "We're having a fine dinner here, man. Please don't spoil it."

"No, I'm not trying to spoil anything," Natiche smiles coldly and cups his hands together, placing them on the table. "I'm simply trying to make easy conversation."

"All right…" Dante puts down his fork, ignoring the concerned face Trish is giving him.

"Dante, please… Just ignore him and continue eating…"

"No, Trish. The guy wants to know more about me. Fine, then. Okay, then…" he directs his attention fully at Natiche and smiles suavely. "I like women and I like rock. I love junk food and take out. My favorite restaurant is a couple blocks down the street. They've got good noodles. I hate television reality shows. My favorite hobby is riding my bike, which I'm currently getting fixed right now. I plan on getting a Suzuki model, though, since my Honda bike is kinda old. On the weekends I like to go out clubbing and drinking. I play in a band as the drummer. Sometimes I forget to take out the garbage. And finally… I've successfully avoided paying my taxes in the past ten years. There. That enough for you? Happy now?"

Dante's smile widens a bit when he sees the disappointed face Natiche makes.

"Unbelievable…" Natiche shakes his head in dissatisfaction. "I try to make nice conversation and you mock me."

            Dante chuckles, "Hey, you wanted to know more about me, didn't you? You want my phone number too? What position I like, if you get me my drift?"

            "All right, now," Joseph intervenes, "Let's all calm down."

"…or maybe you want to know the grades I made in elementary school, huh?" Dante continues. "Middle school? High school?"

            "Hey, I just wanted simple conversation," argues Natiche.

            "…or how about my favorite drink? Food? Movie? Song? Clothes? Girls? Band? No?" Dante becomes dead serious now. His face flat and hard. "I don't like to put up with bullshit, Natiche. If you're gonna treat me like a cock then I'll treat you like one too. I'm sick and tired of your games. If you don't like me, fine. That's you. But keep your shit to yourself and stop wasting my time and everyone else's."

            "Can you blame me? You don't give us zip about yourself!" Natiche's voice rises in a heat of anger, "We don't know why you're really here. And how do we know you're not working with David?"

            "I aim to put an end to him, not work with him. Don't believe me? Tough."

            "No one aims to end anyone unless they've got a reason to. It's obvious you're not here by accident. You came here for something."

            "You're right," Socrates inserts out of the blue.

            Everyone in the table turns to face the young timid man. Socrates tries to look back down at his bowl of soup to avoid all the gazes on him. Yet, he feels the weight of their stares on him, especially Dante's. He knows he wasn't supposed to say anything but…

"All right," Natiche starts, "Start talking. Why don't you fill us in on who you people are and what the fuck we're dealing with here?"

The entire room becomes quiet, glaring at the young and timid man. Socrates is speechless; knowing his wish for a cheerful mood in here has just gone to dust. Now it's been placed on him to talk about the delicate situation they're in. He's always hated being the center of attention. He much rather steer clear and become another faceless person. However, at this moment, he can't be one. All eyes are fixed on him. About the only thing he knows he can't reveal is Dante's personal reasons for being here. But that doesn't mean he can't explain much on David. In fact, Trish and Dante might want to hear what he has to say since he's been leaving them out in the dark too. If only they knew… If only they knew what David was actually planning… Should he tell them? Should he… He clears his throat.

"As you all may or may not know…" he starts off quietly, "David was once a servant of the almighty creator. He was even an angel, given the highest of rank. Until one day, he wanted to act against the Holy One. He felt that he had a right to be the true equal of the Holy One. But the Holy One saw differently so he and several angels formed an alliance, seeking to overthrow the creator of all life. A great battle occurred…"

He stops a moment, remembering this battle. He was not there. Yet, every spirit who becomes an angel is granted the power of knowledge. They are granted this as a measure to prevent it from ever happening again. It's funny… despite being able to reach the divine place, the human within becomes a potential threat to all things holy.

"David and his allies lost the battle and as a result, these 'angels' became demons. With David as the head master of the underworld, these demons populated within hell."

"So what?" Natiche grunts, "What does this have to do with us?"

"I'm telling you this because it was this very act that started the 'great balance', a balance between dark and light. Despite David's act of betrayal, he filled the black void that was lost when life, itself, was created. The old could finally die. The sick could no longer suffer. And the criminals could now be damned. He brought death. But he brought balanced with that too." 

He looks carefully into the sets of eyes that watch him. He no longer carries a youthful face. Rather, a stern and hard face resides over it. 

"Each dark soul goes here. Hell becomes populated with these souls but like all things… nothing lasts forever," he turns to Natiche, looking at him closely, "You wanted to know what's going on? Hell is becoming overpopulated. There are more dark souls filling Hell's domain during the past centuries than there are souls of light residing in Heaven. Even the condemned souls have no place. They walk the earth seeking peace only to find themselves in purgatory. I think you call these 'spirits' and 'ghosts', right?"

"So what are you trying to tell us?" Natiche asks, still not understanding.

"Yeah… What are you saying?" Dante wants to know, realizing how much vital information Socrates left out. He doesn't know whether to be angry or not.

"There've been books foretelling this event," Socrates states slowly, "Stories that Hell will one day run out of room. According to one prophecy made by a man named Elijah: 'When darkness resides over light, so shall the souls of man. The innocence of the mind and spirit will be bathed in blood and soon, a dark king will rise. He, who shall not be named, will devour the entire universe into centuries of utter chaos and insanity. All this will happen within three cycles. On the final cycle, fire and rock will become one and after that life itself will cease'."

"Fire and rock will become one…?" Trish inserts quietly to herself, "The eclipse…"

Socrates nods sadly, "That's why there's been more demons residing here in Earth these past few years. The balance is shifting and this 'invasion' has already started. Mundus, who was a powerful devil lord, threatened to overtake Earth several months ago. His appearance was one of the first signs that this invasion would take place."

"Invasion?" inquires Joseph, "We're being invaded? By these demons?"

"Yes," Socrates continues. "David has three portals ready to be opened on the third final day. These portals all access the three types of rivers from hell: Phlegethon the fire river, Cocytus the river of wailing, and Acheron the river of sorrow. These rivers will be unleashed into Earth and all life as we know it will cease to exist."

"Again," Mani adds, "How does this concern us? Why here? And why now?"

"It's unfortunate to say that one of David's very portals resides here… within the mountains. And that there will be an eclipse tomorrow, the same stated in Elijah's vision."

"So that's why the three strangers were so eager to see the mountains?" realizes Mani, shaking his head in concern. "They were seeking one of the portals?"

"And that's why YOU three want to seek it out too," Natiche inserts hard, looking at Dante with a fierce face.

"I want to put a stop to David, man. That's why me, Trish, and Socrates are here."

"But…" begins one frightened woman in the table, "How do you plan to stop such evil?"

"We do this for a living," answers Trish. "We're private investigators of the super natural. This type of stuff is what we investigate."

"Provided that this demon invasion is even true," Natiche continues, "How can we know for SURE that you're not on David's side? What proof can you give us other than your word? And why do I get the feeling that there's more to this than any of you are telling us?"

Neither Dante, Trish, or Socrates say a word. Natiche scoffs and stands to leave.

"This is bullshit," he says, looking at Joseph and then at Dante. "This is all just bullshit."

Without another word, Natiche leaves the table, heading outside. The room becomes silent once again. Socrates looks down, wishing he never said anything. But… they had to know what was going to happen right? They need to know what they really are up against, especially Dante. Dante thinks this is just another assignment where the only lives at stake are his mother and brother. But this is HUGE. This goes far beyond anything else. Dante is actually going against the king of all devils. A devil that has been here since the time of Christ. A devil that no one can truly kill. And even if Dante did kill him, it will seriously upset the balance between light and dark. Worse… he'll be… 

No, it's better not to think about that. All he can do is hope for the best, even if this is a fixed game they're playing.

Hours later, Joseph and several villagers gather outside in the cold hard night. Night has completely fallen upon the sky and its chill is both dreadful and alarming. The weather, itself, is as evil as the demonic minions that roam about. Thunder roars above the sky and snow falls, twirling viciously as the wind kicks up a notch. And this night, unlike any other, is a dark red one. The entire sky, in fact, is covered by the mysterious blood-red mist from the mountains. The entire sky flashes violently once a bolt of thunder shoots across the sky. It nearly causes Joseph to flinch but he keeps his posture for the sake of the people around him. 

Most of the villagers outside with him are men, all carrying rifles and flashlights or torches to see through the dark night. One of the men currently is occupied by two horses that jump up and down, frightened by the lightening and sounds of chaos. One horse is white and the other is black. He tries to keep them calm but they continue moving anxiously. Meanwhile, the rest of the men stand ready since this could be a perfect opportunity for an enemy to attack. They cautiously look left to right, squinting their eyes as more snow falls.

They're at the far east part of the village near the gate. Beyond the gate is a narrow pathway where only forest and the unknown lie.

Joseph turns to see Dante, Trish, and Socrates with a worried expression. He finds it hard to believe all the things Trish told him back at the shack. Why on earth would anyone want to face a creature like David? Such a journey will only bring death. And yet, he can't help but to hold some sort of hope from this ordeal. If Dante and Socrates can put a stop to this then all this madness will go away. Is it too early to hope for such a thing? Maybe. But what choice does he have? Trish is right. They can't wait it out here anymore. They can't simply wait for help from the outside. They need to take action now. Once Dante and Socrates leave, the monsters will surely come after them to retaliate. Those awful creatures want nothing more than to see their prey trapped and full of fear to do a thing. No more… They've got to fight. And if Dante and his friends have a plan on stopping those monsters, then they will back them up to the end.

"Are you sure you're up for this, Dante?" he asks, raising his light torch to see the man a few feet away.

"You want David out of the picture, right?" Dante adjusts his coat. 

His coat is made out of wolf fur and has a beautiful light blue hue quality to it. It was a gift to Joseph from one of his dead sons. He decided to give it to Dante to keep him warm from the cold weather. He's going to need it for his journey to the mountains.

 "Yes, but…"

"Don't worry, Joseph," Dante replies with ease as he gives a nodding gesture to one of the men near the gate. The man slowly begins to open the gate for Dante and Socrates. "We'll be back. Meanwhile, Trish will look after things here. Right, Trish?"

Standing a few feet away from the crowd, Trish is alone and quiet. No one can see her face since the hood covers it. Dante can only see a shadow on her face. Still, he doesn't need to know how troubled she is about this mission. Her hand touches the ruby of the amulet she wears around her neck.

"Here are two horses for your journey," Joseph informs Dante. On that note, the man in charge with the horses pushes them towards Dante and Socrates. "They're the best out of the four we have left."

"Thanks," Socrates lightly pats the black horse on the head. "We'll take good care of them, Joseph."

"And do you have enough food?"

"Yep," Socrates hits the side of the bag hung of his shoulder. "We appreciate all that you're doing for us, Joseph."

"We only hope we can do more."

Dante just smiles and heads over to Trish who remains still and silent.

"Toots, don't start getting anxious on me now," Dante says gently as he walks close to her. "Ain't nothing to be worried over."

Again, not a word comes from her. Dante stands there. Motionless as well. He wished he could comfort her and tell her everything WILL be okay. But it's obvious that it's all bullshit. There's no done deal here, only questions and assumptions.

"Dante," Socrates says from behind, climbing on top of the black horse, "We've gotta go. The weather looks to get worse."

"Yeah," Dante murmurs back without turning to face Socrates' direction. He still looks down at Trish. "Well babe? Got anything to say before we split?"

Nothing.

Dante swallows hard.

"Could I have my amulet back then? I'll need it for the portal."

Trish gives Dante the amulet without a word.

Dante sighs and takes it. He puts it around his neck and pauses to look at her again. He wishes she could say something to him. ANYTHING. This is the last time they'll be seeing each other for a very long time. And hopefully, it won't be the final one. 

The horrifying dreams creep up to him again. He remembers seeing Trish dead in each of them. He wants so badly to take these bad feelings away, to somehow ward them off from the abyss of his mind and soul. He will never forgive himself if Trish died on his account. He ALLOWED her to stay here. He's been in this business long enough to see the consequences of bad choices. Things go wrong and someone ALWAYS dies because of it. Maybe she really should tag along with him and Socrates? It's not too late. To hell if she might slow them down. It's a chance he's willing to take if it means sparing her life from that Imp prick.

But what about Joseph and the others? The back of his mind asks. What about them? Who will look after them? Well, Dante answers back, they've survived this long. They can handle it, right? They could… No. He can't do that to them. Not to Joseph especially. Looking at Joseph now, he realizes how he's the only one keeping this group together. If something happens to him then everything will go to shit here. Plus, Joseph is a good man. He shouldn't have to be the one taking all this load by himself.

All these choices… On one hand there's Trish's life. And on another, the people of this village. Dante wants to chew on his lower lip, still hoping for Trish to say SOMETHING. He hopes that the first thing she will say helps him determine who's life, or lives, are worth sparing. But there's still nothing from her. Instead, her hooded head is the only he sees as she continues looking straight at the ground.

Maybe it's just his imagination. Maybe he's wrong about those dreams. Trish is a strong girl, right? She can take care of herself. He believes in her. He believes that, when this is all over, he'll be coming back and see her on the flipside. And she'll be smiling too.

Dammitt… All these thoughts. All these maybes. All these… fears.

"Dante," Socrates calls again, his voice a bit more loud against the wind. The flare from his torch paints his face and body pink. "Please. We're wasting time. We've got to go."

Swallowing hard and nodding his head in silence, he turns to join Socrates. He puts his foot on the saddle of the white horse, preparing to lift himself up.

Finally, after all this time, Trish says something.

"Dante…" Immediately Dante stops on his tracks. "Please be careful."

"Don't worry, babe," he tells her quietly and steps down from the horse. "This is Dante you're talking to. I've got everything under control."

A long pause.

"But what if you don't, Dante?" she asks very slowly and eerily quiet, "I mean… there's so much that we don't know what we're getting into. What if…?"

"We ain't got a choice here, Trish. My mother and brother need me. I can't turn my back on them just because we're afraid of the unexpected. And if I fear anything it's not doing a damn thing when I had the chance to."

"Yeah… yeah, you're right."

Dante walks back to Trish. He touches her cheek, wiping away a tear from her eye. He then cups her face with both hands and kisses her on the forehead. Dante looks into her eyes.

"It'll be okay, Trish."

"I'm sorry," she apologizes for her sensitive state, chuckling nervously, thinking how stupid she must look right now. "I know I should be strong. I shouldn't-"

"No, you should," he smiles warmly. The two hug each other, both cherishing the strong bond they've accumulated during their time together. "Caring and crying are things that no demon can understand. They're what make us human, Trish. Remember?"

"Yes… I remember," she replies and buries her head on his shoulder, another clear tear falling. "I just don't want anything to happen to you, Dante. I've spent my life learning what it was like to be a demon. And then you came along. You showed me… a whole new world. You gave me a passion for life. And a purpose."

She looks up at him.

"I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," he says and slowly lets go of her. He repeats again, "You won't." 

He begins walking back to the white horse. He places one leg over and finally sits erect on the saddle, holding onto the rope around the horse's neck. It neighs, ready to go.

"You'll return to give me back my amulet? It's on loan," Trish says below as she stands to the side of the horse, humoring Dante but not really concerned about the amulet. If anything, more on Dante coming back at all.

"I'll be back before you even know it, babe. And while I'm gone, you might want to work on your humor. You're still lagging babe."

"Just get the hell out of here, you horse-ass," Trish grins and slaps the back of the horse. The horse's legs rise and race forward. Trish laughs as Dante tries to hold onto dear life.

Socrates smiles too and finally moves his own horse ahead, chuckling at how wild Dante's horse is. Dante finally gets a good grip and slows down the horse. Afterwards, he and Socrates finally cross the gate and into the other side. As the gate slowly closes, Trish sees both Dante and Socrates begin to enter the narrow valley. She's both sad but proud too. As much as she wants to go with them she knows her place is here.

From the other side, Dante momentarily stops to wave 'bye' to her. Socrates does as well.

"May the spirits be with you both," Joseph calls out to them as he and the rest of the men bid the two well.

Both Dante and Socrates nod. Serious. Determined. They look at each other, realizing that at this very moment, their journey in discovering the book begins. Neither of them knows what to expect and neither of them know if they really WILL be back. But uncertainties can wait. They've got a job to do. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the two men race into the valley of darkness and heavy snow. 

Trish's wraps herself with her coat, shielding herself from the cold. Joseph stands next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, child. I have faith that they will come back."

"Yeah…" she replies back, watching the shadows of Socrates and Dante slowly disappear deep into the forest. Little and little until there's not a trace of them left anymore. "I know…"

_(To be continued... Uh-oh, looks like things are gonna get really bad for Dante and Socrates. And Trish? Could Dante's dreams really be the things to come? There's no telling WHAT'S gonna happen so stay tuned for more mysteries and suspense. And the moment everyone's been waiting for! Dante transformed as a woman?!?!? You'll have to read it to believe it!)_


End file.
